


While You Were Sleeping

by kentuckybarnes (hannah_jpg)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Holiday Aesthetic, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Slight (though non-traditional) Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_jpg/pseuds/kentuckybarnes
Summary: Mistaken as Captain America’s girlfriend following a near-death experience, you keep up the pretense under the suspicious eyes of his best friend, Bucky Barnes. But soon you find out that Steve Rogers isn’t all he’s supposed to be, and somehow, Bucky is so, so much more.





	1. Thanksgiving Day

Autumn mornings in New York City were mostly the same, day by day. Wake up in chill darkness, work all day, come home in chill darkness. Next day, the same. It's a dull job, working at a coffee shop at one of the many subway stops belowground, and one where you don't see a lot of sunshine. Except when  _he_  comes.

Captain America. Steve Rogers. It's hard not to idolize him, even to have a teensy crush on him - he comes to your stop every day for the 7:12 a.m. train, always early, always pausing for a coffee: black, no cream, no sugar. Every day you smile, tendering his change and making his drink, every day he smiles and thanks you, and every day he leaves. You can't help but sigh a little, watching his glinting gold hair above the crowd, drawing stares from all around, including your own.

"You should write your number on his cup." Your co-worker, Maisie, nudges you with an elbow, and guiltily you jump up from where you'd been leaning against the counter, chin in hand.

"I would never," you vow. "He wouldn't be interested in  _me_."  _I'm just a girl that works at a coffee shop_ , you think, but don't say.  _He's an Avenger, and I'm a nobody._

"You won't know unless you try," Maisie says in a sing-song voice, before sliding over to take the next customer's order.

But you do know. You know it's helpless. And somehow that doesn't stop you from daydreaming. Most of your daydreams involve professions of love, an engagement ring, a honeymoon to Italy. All with Steve Rogers. He was irresistible.

 _Mrs. Rogers_. It has a real ring to it.

Thanksgiving morning is the same as any other; for you, at least. You still have to work, even though the subways will likely be emptier than normal. Which is why you're manning the station alone - fortunately for holiday pay. So dragging yourself to the shop at 6 a.m. to take over from the night shift, you yawn, tying your apron on, and wonder if Captain America will go...wherever he usually goes - on Thanksgiving as well. Likely he's been invited somewhere for the holiday. Why wouldn't he be? Everyone loves him.

The station is eerily empty. Only a few extra-dedicated office grunts, a few tired people with suitcases likely on their way to family, and other odds and ends of humanity. Working at the subway is always an interesting place to people-watch, and idly you stack extra cups by the register, waiting for customers.

"Good morning."

A masculine voice breaks through your reverie, and you nearly jump out of your skin to see Captain America standing at the counter, as if appearing out of nowhere. He's smiling, and you rush over, your cheeks hot.

"Go-good morning, sir," you manage. "What can I get you?"

"One small black coffee, please."

Like he even needed to say. You tender his change for him, and then set about filling a cup. Briefly you remember Maisie's outlandish suggestion, but you shake that thought from your head before passing the coffee to Captain America, wearing what you think is your nicest smile.

"Have a nice day, sir," you tell him.

"Thanks." He lifts the cup in your direction. "You too. Happy Thanksgiving."

It was the longest conversation you'd ever had with him. In a haze of wonder, you stare at his back as he wanders over to the line. It's easier to keep sight of him without the usual crowds hanging around - but despite that, you don't notice the group of dark-clad men rushing towards him until it's too late to call out a warning.

Taken by surprise, Captain America crumples when the first man strikes him across the head with a baseball bat. A scream sticks in your throat as you watch about four other men converge on him, kicking and punching. Without thinking you climb over the counter, shouting at the top of your lungs.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

They don't even spare you a glance - but the other commuters do. Other watchers are shrieking now, calling for police, for someone to stop the gang. With an ordered shout, the men push Captain America's mostly-limp body towards the edge of the platform, and he disappears over the edge. And then they run off.

The honk of the 7:12 a.m. train is deafening as you run towards the track in a panic. You can hear a woman talking on the phone, reporting the incident, you can hear a man shouting at you to stay away. But you can't - falling to your knees at the edge, you see Captain America draped across the rail, barely beginning to move. He looks awful - the coffee was spilled across his jacket, and his hair and face are bloodied.

"Captain Rogers!" you call down to him, glancing to your left to see the headlights of the train coming fast. "Captain, the train is coming! You have to move!"

His head turns to the side, and the screech of the brakes rattles and shakes in your head - but it's too late. A whoosh of air, and you fall backwards on your hands as the train thumps over Captain America, and comes to a stop.

Your heart is racing. Surely he couldn't be  _dead_ \- he's survived worse than getting run over by a train, right? But as the so very New York-y New Yorkers continue callously with their commute, only the woman on the phone with the police staying behind, now asking for an ambulance - you hesitantly crawl forward again, peering into the darkness below to see if Captain America was moving.

The train was off again.

As soon as it's gone, and with several minutes before the next train, you hop down over the edge of the platform. He's there - looking worse for wear with burns on his clothes from the train, and blood. Lots of blood.

With all your might you push him off the tracks and over onto his back, grunting with the effort. His eyes are closed, the only part of his cut and bleeding face that looks the least bit serene.

"Is he alive?" the woman above calls down to you. Hurriedly you press your fingers to his pulse point -  _oh my gosh you're touching Steve Rogers_  - and to your amazement and relief, a slight pulse beats in his neck.

"He's alive," you reply. "We need an ambulance."

"It's on it's way."

You brush a bit of fair hair away from his face, biting your lip. "Captain America?" you ask in a soft voice. He doesn't response. "Um - Steve?" Still nothing. Well, it can't feel good to be run over by a train.

In your haze of worry, a medical team arrives and immediately hoists him up off the track and onto a stretcher. A paramedic reaches out a hand to help you back onto the platform, and before you realize what's happening, you're being bundled into the group of medics and Captain America and the stretcher - up the stairs, into the street and into the ambulance.

"He - he was jumped by a group of men," you find yourself stammering to the paramedics. "Five. They hit him on the head, and then jumped him. Then they pushed him onto the trails, and before he could move - before anyone could help him - the train came and ran him over."

"And he survived," a medic asked you, glancing over quickly with a quirked brow.

"Of course he did," another medic snapped a reply. "This is Captain America, Rudy. The train didn't stand a chance."

"Heartbeat is steady," another reports.

"Blood oxygen level normal."

"Left femur appears broken."

"Probably concussed."

A staticky voice over a radio, and, "Room ready at St. Medina's."

Stunned into silence as you watch the group of people work, you aren't  _quite_  sure how you got there. Then one of the women turns to you with a reassuring smile. "Your boyfriend is strong, miss. He looks like he's going to survive." She turns back to Captain America as your mouth falls open, and before you can refute this - was  _this_  why you'd been brought along? Because they thought you were his  _girlfriend_?

Your phone buzzes, and numbly you pull it from your pocket, realizing that you're still wearing your apron. It's a text from your boss, asking why the shop was empty. Shoot. Well, you couldn't exactly jump from a moving ambulance, and so you text her back letting her know you're on your way to the hospital (it's not a lie), and add a profuse apology for good measure.

Well. There goes your job, probably.

The ambulance comes to a stop at the emergency entrance of the hospital. Once again, you're bundled into the group, trailing slightly behind as Captain America is wheeled through the doors. Into a mass of chaos, with extra nurses coming forwards asking for status. Large silver doors open ahead, with a sign for INTENSIVE CARE UNIT written in large letters. There he's wheeled through, and yet another nurse stops you there, putting out a hand and giving a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry, miss," she tell you. "Are you a family member?"

Your lips part in surprise. "Oh - oh no. Definitely not."

"Only family is allowed in the ICU."

Family. Right. You give a nod, not trusting yourself to speak. She turns aside, and with a sigh you glance through the glass window on the door, watching Captain America disappear around a corner. It wrenches your heart.

"I was going to marry him," you whisper to yourself.

You don't hear a gasp from the nurse beside you.


	2. Thanksgiving Cancelled

"Ma'am?"

You jolt out of a daze, only just realizing that you'd been standing by the silver doors leading to surgery for a few minutes now, at least. The nurse who had stopped you is smiling gently now.

"I'll show you to the family waiting room. Someone will come and get you when he can have visitors."

Your mind reels. But she's just said non-family members weren't allowed in the ICU. "Oh, I'm not family," you say quickly.

"It's ok," she assures you, patting your arm fondly. "We consider fiancées family."

With her gentle guidance, you're forced to follow as she leads you down several sterile hallways, and to a smaller waiting room with nondescript carpet and uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Fiancée?

You sit, unthinking and complete shell-shocked. What had just happened? Captain America gets attacked and run over by a train, you practically get pushed into the ambulance with him, and now you're his fiancée?

Maisie is going to  _love_  this.

Jittery, you stare at the clock as minutes pass, so,  _so_ slowly. It's after 9 a.m. now; almost two hours since the accident. How much longer would you be there?

Couldn't you...just leave? Of course you could leave. The hospital staff would probably forget you were there - they knew who Captain Rogers was, they would know to call Avengers Tower to report the accident. Yes, you didn't need to be there any longer. They had their information; you could go.

You need to go.  _Now_. Before this turns into more of a mess.

At once you stand, and you're walking briskly towards the main hospital entrance (exit, in your case). A doctor is walking towards, you, and you don't make eye contact, hoping he won't question you - but with your luck, he does.

"Miss?" he asks, and you stop in your tracks. Shoot. "Your boyfriend is stable. You can visit him now. His room his this way."

You should have left earlier.

Keeping pace with the doctor while internally panicking, you listen with some interest as he details Captain America's injuries and the treatments they had done. His spine had been severed in several places from the train, but they were hopeful of his chances - after all, he was Captain America. A few other broken bones, all set, and the many cuts and scrapes had been taken care of. He appeared to be in a coma, but he would likely come out of it in a few hours.

Hopefully  _after_  you escape the hospital.

The doctor ushers you into a quiet room, filled with beeping and pulses. Captain America has been changed into a hospital gown, one left lifted into a sling and wrapped in a cast. Same with his right arm, and the snowy white bandage wound around his head doesn't disguise the nasty black eye. You inhale slightly, stomach turning - it's a grisly sight.

"He's done well," the doctor adds. "We'll check in on him every hour for now. Buzz us if he wakes." And he ducks out of the room, placing his clipboard in the box outside the door as he clicks it shut.

Awkward silence. Or could it be awkward, if you were the only conscious one in the room?

And could you leave yet?

You inch towards a chair, thinking that if you stay for a few minutes it'll be easier to escape the persistent hospital staff. You gaze at Captain America's profile for a while longer, then the absurdity of everything crashes on you in giddy waves, and you giggle to yourself.

"I would have liked you to ask me out on a date," you say in the quiet room, knowing he can't hear you. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind, though."

You lapse into silence. Even comatose, Captain America is intimidating. Nurses pass by the window you're sitting by, checking the clipboard from the doctor. Despite the door being closed, you can hear their murmuring voices. You tap your fingers on the armrest of your chair, waiting.

"A wolf, I heard," one nurse says.

"Never seen the light of day, probably," the second laughs. "Who knew Captain America was such a dark horse?"

Giggling, they continue on. Whatever  _that_  was about. You check the clock as the halls quiet again. Soon you'll be able to slip out...

Suddenly it's not so quiet anymore. More noise is filtering in from the hallway - twisting in your seat, you gaze through the half-closed blinds at the window and outside - a group of people, noisy and half-shouting down a nurse, is coming near. Your lips part in astonishment as you realize…

The door opens, and at once the voices quiet as several bodies stride forward, forming a circle around Captain America's hospital bed. Four tall men and a red-headed woman. No one speaks. A nurse has followed them in, and starts pushing buttons on the monitors. You sink deeper into your chair, hoping no one will notice -

"FRIDAY, get me the police report," one voice snaps. Tony Stark. Oh my gosh, you were in the same room as Tony Stark.

"How is he still unconscious? He would have woken up by now." This a deeper voice, you surmise it's from the broad-shouldered man facing away from you. You're not sure who he is. The woman on the far side of the bed has picked up Captain America's uninjured hand, her lovely face stilled with emotion. The Black Widow.

"Man, he looks  _bad_." Falcon.

"He's had worse."

"Who are  _you?"_  This snappy voice is directed to you - you've been noticed at last, and you flinch as several heads swivel to you. Some accusative, some confused.

"What do you mean?" the nurse at the monitors says, breaking the tense silence. "She's his girlfriend. Or is it fiancée?"

Your eyes widen. So do everyone else's. Falcon's mouth has fallen open in shock, and he's the first to speak - and he starts by laughing.

"Didn't know Steve was hiding another girlfriend from us," he says, and strides around the bed towards you, holding out his hand. You stare as he comes to an expectant stop before you. "I'm Sam," he says cheerily. Your hand is shaking as he grips it firmly. But the ice is broken - the rest of the Avengers -  _oh gosh, the Avengers_  - come towards you. Quickly you stand, feeling way too short sitting down - and your hand is wrung by Natasha, Clint, Tony. Then the final man comes to stand in front of you: arms crossed, scowl present, eyes suspicious. Your breath has lodged itself somewhere in your throat. The long, dark hair doesn't dispel his rather threatening presence, and you know who  _this_  is.

"Didn't know Steve was seeing anybody," the Winter Soldier says in a rough voice. You try to smile. You can't. How are you supposed to explain this?

"She wouldn't  _lie_ , Bucky," Natasha says in annoyance. Then she glances at you. "Right? You're with Steve?" The blood has drained from your face. You can't  _quite_  move your eyes from the Winter Soldier - it's like being riveted in place.

"I - I - " you stammer.

The nurse thankfully (or not so thankfully) interrupts. "She's the one that pulled him off the tracks," she informs the room at large. Additional surprise dawns on the faces of the Avengers, and Tony blinks at you.

"Is that true?"

"Well - yes."

"I didn't think Steve had time for a girlfriend with the extra work he's been doing for SHIELD," Tony continues. "Or is this a long distance slash Tinder type thing?"

You try not to glance longingly at the door, yearning for escape. You lick your lips. "I - I see him every day."

"Every  _day_?" A chorus breaks out. Then Sam is laughing again. "I don't blame Steve for keeping secrets from you guys," he chortles. "Look at the welcome you've given her!"

But the Winter Soldier shrugs this off. "We don't know that she  _is_  his girlfriend. Could just be another straggler looking for fame."

You bristle at this.

"If she is who she says she is, she'll know," the Winter Soldier says loudly. His eyes, raking across your face, are clearly taking your measure. Your hackles raise at the indignity of being sized up and clearly found wanting, and you meet his eyes with a frown of your own. He's scary, there's no doubt about it - but you would  _not_  let him know that he intimidates you.

"I'll know  _what_?" you ask, irritated.

"Oh," he smirks. "You'll  _know_."

"His tattoo?" Sam asks, looking confused. "Doesn't everyone - "

"He has a tattoo?" Tony interrupts, interest clearly piqued. As the Winter Soldier nods his head in smug confirmation, all eyes turn to you, expectant and curious. Your mind reels. And then you meet his smirk with a smirk of your own.

"The wolf?" you ask, delighted to see the Winter Soldier's expression crack in surprise. "On his  _arse_?"

Tony Stark's mouth falls open. Clint is shaking his head, as if he wants to bleach it - and Natasha bursts into gales of laughter. Sam joins in with that hilarity, clapping the Winter Soldier on the shoulder.  _He_  is clearly not pleased at you, but you can't help but feel a tad victorious. You'd stood up to a world-class assassin. And a jerk to boot.

"I want to know more about this," Stark says fervently.

"'Howling' Commandos," the Winter Soldier explains, through gritted teeth. "We got 'em matching in France."

"You have one  _too_?" This delights Sam utterly. But your attention is still focused on those suspicious eyes, still fastened on your face, and you hold his gaze until finally, he blinks.

"Sorry for being overly-diligent," he mutters, and holds out a hand. "I'm Bucky. It's nice to meet you."

"Bucky," you say, with a smile. Oh, gosh, those  _eyes._  So  _blue_ , like they were carved from the one-hour-to-sunset sky. Your pulse flutters slightly, and with his hand still clasping yours, he must feel it - because his eyes widen slightly and his lips part in surprise. You jerk your hand away, reverting to a scowl. He's laughing at you - you can tell by the tilt of his lips. It's your turn to cross your arms, and you force your gaze away.

You see, beyond Clint's shoulder, the nurse sidling from the room. The traitor. You'd never known that nurses were such a gossipy lot.

"We should go, now that we now that Steve's alright," Natasha is saying to Tony. "He has company, at least." And she smiles at you. A nice smile. Oh, gosh - she believes you  _are_  Captain America's girlfriend. Oh, no. Oh,  _no_. This is much worse than the nurses.

"Unless you have other plans for the holiday?" Tony asks, gaze on you.

 _Ha, ha, ha._  "No, I don't," you say in a clipped voice.

"I'm staying, too," Bucky says in a growl. He might believe that you're with Steve, but he clearly doesn't trust you. You decide that you don't really like Bucky.

The Avengers say their farewells; to you, to Bucky, to the unconscious Steve. Then they file out, the door clicks shut, and you're still left toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier. His hands are firmly on his hips, probably still gauging your measure. You meet his eyes again, your lips pressed tightly together as you try to sense what he's thinking. A smile is flickering on his lips, and after a tense silence he lifts his brows.

"Shall we sit?" he asks.

You shrug your shoulders. "Sure."

He drags a chair over to the side of Steve's bed, and after a moral-conundrum moment you do, too. It would look weird if Steve's girlfriend didn't sit loyally at his side. Wait, did you really want to keep up this impression? When everyone found out that it's all a lie - you did  _not_  want to be there for that. But meeting Bucky's challenging gaze as you sit down delicately, a flare of annoyance strengthens your pride.

"How long have you been dating?" he asks quietly, over the beep-beeps of the machines.

"A couple months," you say vaguely.

"Hmm." Bucky watches Steve's face for a moment, and then turns back to you. "How'd you meet?"

Did he intend to interrogate you, then? You force a smile, and tell the truth: "I work at a coffee shop underground. He comes by my stop every day."

"Ah." Bucky nods his head slowly. "So you know how he takes his coffee."

What, was he still testing you? Pretty dumb way to do it. You frown. "Of course. Don't you?"

He smirks. "Black."

You cross your arms, choosing to stare at Captain America's beat-up face for awhile, just to relieve yourself of Bucky's intimidating stare. You didn't know much of Bucky Barnes. Only snippets of his past, played out on newsreels and social media. At least he's as loyal to his best friend as he's made out to be. And handsome. But still, you prefer blonds.

Without further interrogation, Bucky reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cards. You refuse to look at him, despite the annoyingly loud sounds of shuffling. He rolls the bedside table over, so that it's over Steve's waist.

"Might as well pass some time," Bucky says casually. "You in?"

You wrench your eyes over to him. "What are you playing?"

"Texas hold'em."

"Deal me in." He was right. Might as well pass some time - and cards would be less awkward than more questioning.

He does so - and to your surprise - he deals in Steve, too. As if the unconscious guy can play. You raise your eyebrows at this, but Bucky offers no comment.

"What do you think?" he asks, flipping over the first two cards on the table.

"About what?" You're frowning at your hand.

"Steve."

You hesitate. What do you say to this? And why was Bucky questioning you like he's Steve's  _father_? Maybe it came with the ' _one hundred years old and each other's only remaining family'_ territory. "I like him," you say vaguely. At the expectant silence, you add, "He's...consistent, kind. Moral."

Bucky snorts, flipping the next card over. "Very romantic."

"And he has a nice  _butt_ ," you enunciate, slapping the next and yanking up another card. You're glaring across the bed at Bucky, whose grin only broadens.

"I'd be disappointed for Steve if you didn't think so," he teases. He's teasing you. Oh, gosh. You meet his eyes, feel blood rush to your face at the glint in his startling eyes, and quickly look down at your cards.

"Two pairs," you say.

"Three." Bucky smirks, and lays down his cards on the table. You blink. He'd been distracting you - if you had kept the nine of hearts you could have had four of a kind… "Good thing we weren't playing for anything," he adds.

"Why do you think I went easy on you?" you tell him, annoyed.

He laughs - actually laughs - and despite yourself you give a chuckle as you drop your cards down. Bucky's laugh is contagious, and you'd made him laugh. Wow. Your pulse gives that weird flutter again, and before this can get weirder than it already is, you stand up abruptly, surprising Bucky into silence.

"I have to go back to work," you say without thinking. An excuse you should've used an hour earlier. He starts to stand, too.

"Let me walk you - "

"No!" you say quickly, and he freezes, lifting a brow at you. "It's not far," you continue. "I'll be fine. But thank you."

Bucky smiles, and gives a nod. "Let me give you my number, at least. If you need anything."

"I really don't think - " You start to say, but his eyes narrow at you. Of course a girlfriend would have her boyfriend's best friend's number. It would be weird not to, probably. So you backtrack, and calmly type Bucky's recited number into your phone and send him in a quick text as a courtesy so that he has yours, too.

"I'll probably see you around," Bucky says casually.

 _Hope not_. "Probably," you agree, while deciding not to come back to hospital ever again. Let them learn of the lie when Captain America wakes up, and you can be far away. "Well, bye."

He's grinning as you leave, and you shut the door to the hospital room with shaking hands, trying not to glance back through the window to the man watching.


	3. A Secret for Sam

You tell the too-crazy-for-real-life experience of the day before to Maisie under your breath as the two of you work together the following morning. She's riveted by the entire thing, of course, but takes a far more pragmatic perspective towards the deception than you do.

"Oh, they won't think twice about it," she says airily. "Especially if you don't go back. I bet he's woken up by now - don't you think? They'll be distracted by other things."

You definitely agree with the latter. It makes you a little sad - you probably wouldn't be seeing the so-handsome and so-desirable Captain America for a long time, if ever again. Especially if Bucky tells him everything, and he puts two and two together. _'The girl at the coffee shop says she's your girlfriend_.' It wouldn't be hard for him to figure out that you'd been party to a deception. And if Captain America ever came back to call you out on it? It would be  _horrible_. But Maisie is certain that he won't.

Your shift ends at four, and when you hang up your apron at last and start to pull on your jacket, you see a missed call and a text.

_Steve hasn't woken up. Come by and see him._

An order. From none other than Bucky Barnes.

You bite your lip as you sit on a stool in the break room, considering. You shouldn't go back. But what if you didn't? Would the Avengers, hacked into all the security in the world, find your address and drag you out? Question you? And what right did Bucky have, thinking he can order you around and that you'll even  _obey_?

At the very least, you can go chew him out, and maybe see Captain America one more time before you're put in jail for lying about being his girlfriend.

But you wouldn't get  _arrested_ \- right?

Before you realize what you're doing, you've climbed aboard the westbound train to the hospital, rather than the east to your apartment.  _Get off this train and go home_ , you tell yourself sternly.  _You shouldn't be there_. But the magnetic pull is unmistakable. And instead of Captain America, you're thinking of Bucky as you walk through the main entrance of the hospital.

And for good reason, apparently. Because the man himself is walking down the stairs from the second level, and you freeze in your tracks as he catches sight of you. And...heads straight in your direction.

If Bucky ever wanted to draw less attention in a crowd, he should start by not dressing so menacingly, you think. The black jeans, the combat boots, the black leather jacket and black baseball cap - as nondescript as maybe they're supposed to make him - they draw all eyes to his very fine, very powerful figure. Despite it all, he's grinning as he comes to a stop in front of you. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he balances on the balls of his feet as he leans slightly toward you.

"I was about to go find you," he says. "Steve's getting restless. We think he misses you."

How tender. You don't believe it for a minute. "Well, I'm here," you say, and lift your chin against the strange rush you feel as Bucky's slightly spicy, slightly sweet scent overpowers you for a moment. How did that even happen? To cover your momentary reaction, you add, "And next time, feel free to add a 'please' when you order me around."

Bucky grins, and jerks his head towards the stairs. "Yes, ma'am."

You hurry to keep up with his long strides. You're out of breath by the time you arrive at Captain America's room - surely Bucky hadn't been testing you again. But even as you frown in his direction, you see a smirk on his lips.

Natasha, sitting by the bed, stands when you enter, welcoming you with a smile. "It's lovely to see you again," she says kindly as you brush past Bucky in annoyance. "Come sit."

"How's he doing?" you decide to ask. Since you've apparently made the choice to keep up this facade one more day, at least.

"Alright. The doctors still think he'll come around soon."

You study Captain America's face - there are fewer cuts and bruises than the day before. It's impressive; clearly he heals as fast as everyone says. A moment later, and you feel the burn of Bucky's eyes on your face, and without thinking you grab Captain America's hand. Oh, gosh. You're holding his hand - it's softer than you'd think, calloused, and massive. Hopefully no one would notice your blush…

"I'm going to go get coffee," Natasha says quietly. "Anyone else?" There's a silence. You glance up, to see Natasha waiting for you to speak.

"Oh, um, sure."

"How do you take it?"

"A large latte with two shots of vanilla syrup." you say. Natasha grins at this before she heads out of the room, but Bucky's brows shoot to the ceiling.

"Make that two," Bucky calls after her, not looking away from you. The door clicks shut.

"What?" you ask him, feeling a little defensive.

"Just wouldn't have expected it," he shrugs. "Steve's a health nut. Which you know, of course." And this accompanied by that smirk which riles you right back up again.

"Of course," you echo. How could you possibly be surprised, with all the healthy eating endorsements he's done for television? "Unlike you," you snipe at him.

"Unlike me," he agrees. You turn back to Steve, biting your lip. How much longer did you have to stay?

Without any further conversation between you and Bucky, Natasha returns with the drinks. You gratefully accept yours, not meeting Bucky's challenging stare across the room as he takes a sip. Let him gag on the overly-sweet coffee. But he doesn't. Sad day.

A phone pings, and it's Natasha that pulls hers from her jacket. "Sam's at the front desk. He's coming up for the night shift," she announces. "Shall we go, Bucky?"

He's still looking at you. You bristle as you meet his eyes, but you don't budge.

"Sure," Bucky says at last. "Steve'll be fine with  _you_ , right?"

"I'm not going to smother him, if that's what you're asking," you say coolly.

"Yeah, dial the hostility back a bit, soldier," Natasha says, giving Bucky a glare. "She's fine. Let's go." And gripping the leather jacket of his arms tightly, she practically drags him from the room. You frown as he shrugs, but allows himself to be pulled away. Then the door closes, and you're alone with Captain America. But it's not as savory an experience as you might have thought.

"Ugh, what is his  _problem_?" you grumble aloud, ruffling your hair through your fingers before glaring at the man lying comatose on the hospital bed. "You have bad choice in friends." But even as you say it, you know it's not true. You've just been unlucky enough to get on Bucky's sour side. Regret for saying something so unkind, even to a man completely unconscious, gives you pause. You focus instead on the the dark eyelashes, spread across such smooth, perfectly smooth cheeks…

"Can I call you Steve?" you say after a moment, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. He doesn't move. "Gosh, if Bucky heard me calling you Captain America I'd never hear the end of it. He'd know for sure this is a lie."

You hesitate for a moment, then take a breath. "Steve. I don't know what happened here, but I'm really sorry. I shouldn't be here. I mean, I don't regret helping you," you say quickly. "But anyone could've done that. And anyone else would have been smart enough not to 'not protest,'" you roll your eyes at yourself, "when a bunch of nosy nurses make up some relationship. Gosh, I can't believe they let me be  _alone_  with you. This is the longest I've ever spoken to you in my  _life_."

Steve is unmoved by this speech. The beeping of the monitors continue.

"I should go." And you stand, but lean forward to kiss the cheek of your unconscious crush. "Thanks for listening anyway, stranger." You turn to leave, picking up your bag, and -

Sam Wilson is standing in the door, gazing at you in surprise, his arms crossed across his chest.

Oh,  _no_. Well, this is over now. You offer a tremulous smile, just to be polite. Before you're escorted from the premises in handcuffs.

"Well, this is interesting," Sam says cheerily. "So it was all a mistake, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly," you admit, tucking hair behind your ear as you nervously shift your weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - it was an accident - "

But he holds up a hand. "Nah, it's ok."

"But it was  _wrong_  - "

"And not really your fault." He grins at you. "Good grief, girl; you're looking at me like I'm going to eat you alive! Chill. No one's going to chew you out for this."

You blink, and then laugh a little. "Don't lie to me. I've met Bucky."

Sam laughs, too. "Good point. Well, I've got your back."

This touches you, and you feel a warmth spread through you that's so foreign, you've almost forgotten - oh. Right. Friendship. Kindness. Not usual for someone who works at a coffee shop. "Thank you," you tell him, feeling a little shy. "I know it's strange, but…" You shrug, and Sam watches you with a smile, waiting. "I have a little crush on him," you gesture towards Steve, "He comes by every day and orders a coffee. He just has such a nice smile - it's irresistible."

Sam nods along. "I understand. He's got that way with women."

Women. Right. Of course. No doubt Captain America has hundreds of women throwing themselves at him. A snag of disappointment hits your heart, and it must have shown in your expression, because Sam walks towards you, and clasps you on the shoulder with a smile.

"Hey, it's ok," he says. "You helped get Steve to the hospital, right? Pulled him off the tracks" You nod. "Of course you're worried about him. Don't feel like you have to stay away. I'm sure he'll want to thank you when he wakes up."

You stare at Sam for a moment, baffled. But then you nod again. "I don't want to lie," you murmur at last. "Could - could  _you_  maybe tell everyone else? I couldn't. Not... _Tony Stark_." You cover your face with your hands. "What are they going to do with me?"

"Nothing at all," Sam says, patiently and firmly. "Of course I'll tell them. Don't worry."

There's something in his tone of voice you can't help but trust. You smile again. "Thank you again," you tell him. "You're...really as awesome as everyone says."

Sam preens at this compliment, and you're giggling at the toss of this head. "See you around, ok?" he says as you duck out of the room. You incline your head in assent, and walk those hospital halls feeling brave enough to even face Bucky.

Well, maybe not quite  _that_  brave. Fortunately Sam would do that for you.


	4. Snow Day

Sam did  _not_ keep his promise to tell the rest of the Avengers of the misunderstanding.

You learn this the following morning (Sunday, your only day off), when you leave your apartment building to head to your favorite cafe for brunch. You're feeling quite chipper until you see none other than  _Bucky Barnes_  leaning on a lamp post, watching the traffic with a keen eye, though you suspect he's waiting for you. This suspicion is confirmed when he turns and fastens his eyes on you, grinning broadly. You nearly topple over from the sheer force of his own charm.

"Hey," he greets you, walking over through the crowd. "I'm heading to the hospital. Want to grab some coffee on the way?"

_An excuse to say no. An excuse to say no. Come on, brain. Think fast._

"Sure," you say.

The sky is overcast, and it's  _cold_ , but walking briskly beside Bucky helps. He parts the foot traffic better than you ever could, anyway. After a few moments, flurries of snow begin to flutter through the air. You zip up your jacket all the way to your nose. It's pretty mild, for the end of November. But snow is snow.

"Why were you waiting for me?" you blurt. Bucky gives you a sidelong glance, suddenly lifting his hand to ruffle it through his loose hair.

"Why not? I just figured you'd go see Steve this morning, and I was in the neighborhood."

"Because you found out where I live."

"Steve's my best friend," he says casually. "I want to be supportive of his relationships."

The word brings a little chill to your bones. Clearly Sam hasn't told everyone about the misunderstanding. So you'd be playing the part of Captain America's girlfriend a little longer - and make the fallout that much worse, you're sure. Great.

There's a coffee shop on the same block as the hospital, and Bucky opens the door for you as you're practically blown in by the wind, scattering snowflakes on the welcome mat. He comes in behind you, solid as ever. Of course. You huff as you walk up to the counter, and order your usual. With an extra shot of espresso.

"Make that two," Bucky says sleekly. Stalking up behind you, again. He grins down at you. "Anything else?"

"A chocolate muffin, please," you tell the cashier.

"Two," Bucky repeats.

He pays before you have a chance. Grumbling just a little, you stand to the side to wait for your order. "I didn't know  _you_ had such a sweet tooth," you snipe at him, annoyed that he got the best of you.

Bucky smiles, but he's unfazed. "I try to balance Steve out," he says. "Between you and I, we might eat enough sugar for him, too."

You blink, and then laugh. But internally your mind is whirring, and you think,  _a Captain America that doesn't eat sweets is the first mar on his perfect character._ Did he expect the girls he dated to adhere to the same diet? Some guys did that. Surely  _Steve_  wouldn't.

"What do you like to do besides eat sweets?" Bucky asks suddenly. You're drawn from your reverie, and gaze up at him.

"Nothing exciting," you shrug. "I don't take down rogue organizations in my spare time or anything."

He gives a huff of laughter as the barista puts the goods up on the counter for you, and you snag your coffee and muffin. "That sounds normal," Bucky says, and he pushes the door open with his back, allowing you to pass through. But it's a tight squeeze - you feel a rush of hot blood as your side brushes against his solid torso. Heat radiates from his body, even through the layers separating you and his spicy scent surrounding you. Quickly you take a drink to cover your face.

"I'm very normal," you blab. "So normal. Too normal, probably."

"No such thing," Bucky says firmly. He strides next to you, and you determine not to look at him anymore. His eyes are  _too_  blue against the cloudy sky. You shouldn't even be noticing - for all he knew, you were dating his best friend. No staring at Bucky.

"You know," he says after a while. The crowds on the sidewalk have dissipated, into building and away from the growing flurries. Stubbornly you go on. "I wondered why Stevie would fall for a coffee shop girl." He gives you a sidelong look, but before you can open your mouth and snark him back he adds, "But you're pretty cool."

"Thank you?" you say, uncertain.

"I'm  _trying_ to be nice," Bucky retorts, a little testily. "Stop acting so surprised."

"But I  _am_  surprised. Here I thought that I wasn't good enough for your precious  _Stevie_ , Bucky Mama-Bear Barnes."

His mouth falls open, but then he laughs. You feel a glow in your chest - he really has a lovely laugh. It's all so genuine; head thrown back, the rich, deep sound. You look away, trying to breathe evenly. Maybe if it would stop catching in your throat.

"I've never been called a mama bear," Bucky chortles after a moment. "You're probably not wrong. Just don't say it around Sam, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Speaking of Sam...

The hospital isn't particularly busy, and together you and Bucky tread the now-familiar route to Steve's room. It's Clint sitting with him when you enter, legs propped up on the end of the hospital bed as he thumbs through a magazine.

"Is that for me?" Clint asks hopefully, sniffing the air as he scents the coffee.

"Dream on," Bucky says shortly, and lifts one solid leg to kick Clint's feet. "Have some decency, man."

"What? It's not like Steve needs the space."

"You can go now. We've got him covered."

Clint stands with a moan and a groan, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. Then he grins at you. "Morning," he says, and there's an insinuation in his voice that makes your cheeks feel warm.

"Good morning," you say politely.

With a lusty wink Clint grabs his jacket, giving a nod as he ducks out of the room. Bucky lets out a sigh as Clint disappears, and sets his coffee down on the bedside table. You sit down at Steve's opposite side, noting that his color is a little better today. But still he's unconscious - how long did it take a super soldier to recover from being run over by a train, anyway? Maybe he was just lucky not to be dead. Slowly you chew your muffin as you consider this.

"Do you have Sam's number?" you ask Bucky aloud.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I have a bone to pick with him."

Bucky chuckles, and pulls out his phone, glancing down to text you the number. Your phone pings. "I'm sure you have good reason," he drawls, draining the rest of his coffee.

"I do." And to Sam, you type,  _Hey, what happened to telling everyone the whole girlfriend thing was a misunderstanding? Didn't expect to see the Broody Soldier waiting for me this morning,_ and send it. And then the awkward silence of sitting with two super soldiers as the fraudulent girlfriend of the unconscious one sinks in.

"You're real good to Steve," Bucky says, suddenly and softly. Your eyes flicker to him, and you see a strange tenderness in his expression. "I've been giving you a hard time. I'm sorry."

"Er - thanks?" But you feel skeptical, all the same. He can tell, clearly, because his lips press together in annoyance.

"A ' _thanks for apologizing, Bucky'_  will do."

You raise a brow. "Don't get too greedy, now."

He chuckles. "So. Since we're here, and Steve ain't talking - tell me more about yourself." At your expression, Bucky adds, "Look, if you're with Steve we gotta be friends."

 _I'm not with Steve, so no, we don't_. "What do you want to know?" you ask.

"You...live here in the city?"

"I do."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"What about your family?"

This is the last time you invite Bucky Barnes you quiz you. Resting your arms on the hospital bed, you decide to look at Steve instead - he's not looking at you with piercing blue eyes that make you feel all fluttery. "My mom left when I was a baby," you say quietly. "My dad raised me. He...died a couple years ago. Cancer."

"Oh." The cocky edge of Bucky's voice is gone. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." A lie that's grown easy to tell.

"And you've always worked at the coffee shop?"

You huff in frustration, running your fingers through your hair. "No. I was going to school when my dad got sick. I quit to get a job to help pay the bills. Since he passed I just...I haven't felt like going back."

Bucky is nodding slowly along. But it's not smugness in his expression, like you would have expected from him - it's sympathy. Kindness. "I understand."

His simple compassion makes your eyes burn with tears - oh, gosh, it's been months since you cried over Dad. Why was Bucky doing this to you? Or maybe it was just the turmoil of the last few days, catching up at last.

Bucky clears his throat, sitting up straighter in his chair. "What were you studying? Before you dropped out."

"I was going to be a teacher. English. Probably middle school."

"Do you think you'll go back?"

You shrug. "Maybe."

Bucky winds his fingers together, setting them on his lap with a lazy grin. "I think it would be good for Stevie to date a teacher. It's a very pure job."

Before you can indignantly question  _this_ , your phone pings, and you pick it up to read Sam's reply.  _Sorry, I forgot. I'll tell them tonight._  You shake your head to yourself, and text him back:  _Good. Because I'm stuck here another day. Now I'm really going to get in trouble_.

"It must get lonely, huh?" Bucky's voice breaks through your reverie.

"Well, yeah," you say sardonically. "Aren't you ever lonely?"

Bucky doesn't rise up to your clear irritation. "Tell me about your dad."

Another order. You take a deep breath, fiddling with the edge of the hospital blankets lying across Steve. "He...he was a carpenter. He worked from home so he could be with me. He used to call me his angel. I...was unexpected, and then Mom left…" your voice cracks slightly, "He said I was the best gift he could have."

Bucky's eyes are soft, but still blazing as your lifts your to meet them. A warm flush through your body, and he gives a lopsided smile.

"Sounds like you were lucky to have each other," he says.

"Yeah." You look away, unable to bear it. "We were going to go on a trip to Italy when I graduated. Just us."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Bucky must sense that you've confided all that you're willing, because he adopts his crooked grin once more and begins to talk about Steve. So much  _Steve_. You're pretty sure he could talk about the man for days and not tire - and there's a lot to say.

Between their school years together, the Depression, art school before the war, all the fights he got into, then the war and the Howling Commandos and everything else - it's past noon when Bucky stops for breath. You gave up trying to appear interested in the not-moving Steve long ago, giving all your attention to the very alive man across from you, the way his cheeks dimpled when the smiled, and that sparkle in his eyes. Said eyes are shifting to the clock now, and Bucky grimaces.

"Sorry," he says. "Sometimes I just get talkin' and I forget everything else…"

"Who knew Bucky Barnes was such a chatterbox?" you tease, stifling a yawn.

"And I've put you to sleep!" He puts a hand to his chest, as if mortally offended, and you giggle.

"You didn't! I thought it was all….very interesting."

"Code for insipid and dull."

"Well," you smirk as Bucky begins to laugh. "Only parts. The story about the milk bottles was probably a ' _had to be there_ ' instance."

"Natasha is going to be here soon," he tells you, still grinning as he pulls out his phone. "You can stay with her, if you like."

"Generous of you," you say. "But...I should go. I have errands to run."

"Need a hand?"

You grab your bag under your chair, shaking your head a little too quickly. "No, no. Definitely not." You stand and turn away, then realize what role you're playing, before you turn back and kiss Steve's cheek quickly, giving him a fond, and hopefully believable smile. But Bucky's looking away - you frown at his gaze, now directed to the floor.

"See you around," you say, heading for the door as you shove your hat over your head.

"Yeah. See you."


	5. Game Night

_Did you tell them?_  you text Sam the next morning. When he doesn't respond, you add a,  _Well?_

The response comes during your lunch break.  _Sorry, sis. Got sent on a mission last night. I'll get back to you._

Of course.

You go through your day at the coffee shop trying to avoid all thoughts, especially of Steve and/or Bucky. It was unexpected, but you felt stranger about the latter than the former. You know how you feel about Steve: in awe. Reverence. Admiration. Frightened of what he'll say when he finds you. You don't know how you feel about Bucky. Just, very odd. Now, if you could only place those strange tingles you felt when he was around, or why remembering the piercing gaze of those blue eyes made your stomach twist and turn…

There's a waiting text on your phone at the end of your shift. From Bucky:  _Are you coming tonight? Steve and I are lonely._  As if you have a choice anymore. And what did he mean by ' _Steve and I'_? Why should you be worrying about Bucky's feelings?

"I'm heading out," Maisie says to you, as you drag on your scarf slowly, avoiding any decision-making.

"Yeah, see ya, Mais."

"Still planning on getting a tree tonight?"

"I think so," you say. "Why?"

"My brother's been out all day looking for the best trees. I can text you the place if you like."

"Thanks."

She grins and ducks out, and you're left with Bucky's text and a growing sense of uneasy excitement. Well, if Steve isn't awake yet. Surely there wouldn't be more harm than what's already been done. You're screwed either way. Might as well face Bucky and try to sort out why he makes you feel so strange.

He's already smiling when you stride into Steve's room an hour later. You manage to greet him politely, pulling up your usual chair and pulling your mittens off with your teeth.

"I was wondering if you'd come," Bucky says, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Sorry I didn't text you back. But in my defense, I  _was_  working."

"Uh huh."

You give Bucky your best ' _are we seriously doing this right now?_ ' glare, and he gives a chuckle before speaking. "So. Now that you've decided to grace us with your presence, I'll fill you in with the news."

"Okay…"

There's a crooked grin on Bucky's face. "The doctors did a bunch of tests today, since they think he should have woken up by now. MRI, CAT scan - all normal."

"That's...good." You think.

"Could be worse." Bucky leans back in his chair. You can't help but notice the burgundy and black plaid shirt he's wearing, the sleeves rolled up past his wrist. One hand shining silver, the other tanned flesh, both more attractive than they should be. You swallow, and notice that he has gauged where your attention went.

"You scared of me?" Bucky asks, his voice soft. It irks you, the roiling warmth that his eyes causing your discomfort. Though as far as discomfort goes, it's pretty nice. So you tilt your chin up, holding his gaze.

"You wish."

And he only grins wider in return.

"Sam said he was on a mission?" you ask in a hoarse voice. A good offense.

"Yeah. He and Nat flew off to Asia last night," Bucky says, still grinning. "Sadly that means we don't have the manpower to keep Steve company 24/7."

You glance at Steve's face, smiling a little as a surge of your old crush on him makes your cheeks warm. "He clearly isn't missing it," you say dryly.

A bark of laughter erupts from Bucky's throat. "Clearly."

"So...have you been sitting here all day?" you ask.

"I only came in 'round mid-morning," he shrugs. "Tony was here last night. I think."

"Hmm." You fiddle with the thumb of your mittens, sure of where to look. Your fake boyfriend, dead asleep. His best friend, staring at you inscrutably. "What did you do all day? Doesn't he get a little boring?" You nod towards Steve with a smile. Bucky chortles.

"Yeah, yeah he does. But he's really easy to beat at cards this way. I haven't lost a single dime," Bucky says, preening comically as you laugh.

"I bet you didn't make a dime, either."

"Well, no. But my pride remains intact."

You ponder for a moment, and then smile. "Want to play against a real person?"

"You offering?"

"Sure. And I won't go easy on you this time, either."

Bucky laughs, pulling the trusty pack of cards from the front of his shirt. "I don't have any dimes on me," he warns. But you merely smile, and reach down into your bag to produce a bag of Skittles.

"Here," you say, and pull the tray table over to dump the candy on top. "Red is worth ten, purple five, green two, and yellow one."

"What about orange?" Bucky asks, dragging his candy to his side. You toss an orange Skittle into your mouth, and shrug.

"Gotta keep our blood sugar up."

He's laughing, mostly to himself, as he shuffles out the cards. "Do you always have candy on you?" he inquires, glancing up at you as he deals.

"Yes."

Bucky's grin turns roguish. "You're my kinda girl."

This easy competition, begun that first day at Steve's bedside, is one that you enjoy more than you'd admit to Bucky. He's a pretty decent player, just like you, and so each game can go either way - and it often flops back and forth, allowing for gloating and bemoaning from each party. Only Steve remains silent, and you wonder how he hasn't woken up yet, with the racket Bucky makes each time he sweeps the deck.

"And the last hand to me," he says with a grin, dragging the pool of Skittles to his side. "Sorry."

"You're not sorry," you tell him crossly. You'd been looking forward you eating those, too!

"No, I'm really not." Bucky tosses back a handful of candy into his mouth, and you glare in his direction before you shake your head.

"We're not really good company, are we?"

"For Steve? Sure we are," he says, chuckling. "We're much more lively than he is. He wouldn't be much more fun if he were awake."

"That can't be true," you protest without thinking.

Bucky raises his brows. "Steve would never bet on candy. Or anything else - he thinks it's immoral for Captain America to endorse gambling."

"Because Skittles are a gateway drug to leasing your house to a gangster," you snipe.

"Hey, take it up with him, not me," Bucky says. "I pro-gambling, especially when it comes to candy." He smirks at you as he shoves the cards back into their case. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble.

"Let me make it up to you." Bucky glances at the clock on the wall, then back to you. A dimple flickers in his unshaven cheek, and you have to tear your eyes away. "It's late. Can I buy you dinner, at least?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine - "

"Why, you going out with your other boyfriend?" Bucky's brow tilts upwards, challenging you. You try to suppress a hot flush in your cheeks, and grit your teeth only slightly before forcing a smile.

" _No_ ," you say with exaggerated patience.

"Any other plans, then?"

You hesitate, and then answer. "I was going to buy a Christmas tree tonight."

"Oh, I see," Bucky says, nodding. "Well, I can help with that. I've been told I'm a great carrier of trees."

"Are you now? Well, I was hoping for a fifteen-footer, so I'd better take you up on that offer," you tease. He laughs at this, and stands, picking up a leather jacket from the back of his chair.

"Sounds like a fun time," he says, and gathering your things, you meet him at the door. His wonderfully blue eyes are shining - he's going to enjoy this.

You, on the other hand, are not. As soon as you step into the night air, you begin to shiver as the breath is sucked from your lungs - the jacket you'd chosen for the day is now a tad inappropriate. You zip up your jacket the rest of the way, winding your scarf around your neck an extra time.

"Cold?" Bucky asks, glancing down at you.

"Just a little," you say. "I thought the cold snap wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow…"

"Well, here." He shrugs off his leather jacket at once, slinging it over your shoulders. It zips easily over your much thinner jacket, encasing you in Bucky's spicy scent and the lingering body warmth seeping into your bones.

"Thanks," you mutter. "But...aren't you going to be cold now?" You eye his flannel shirt, and he only grins good-naturedly.

"I'm used to the cold." But Bucky shoves his his flesh hand in his jean pockets, all the same. "Anyways, there's a sandwich shop not far from here - we can power walk."

Laughing, you try to keep his stride on the icy sidewalks, dodging through the few people caught out in the freeze. A block from the hospital, and Bucky beckons you into the interior of a small restaurant. There are no tables, just a deli counter and a few bar stools at the window. But it's warm, and you pull your scarf from your face to breathe in the warm, delicious air.

Bucky treats you to a sandwich despite your protests, and you find two empty chairs near the front. The window is rattling a little in the wind, but it's pleasant inside.

"I'm  _starving_ ," Bucky says, tearing into his own sandwich.

"I can tell. You've been a bit of a bear." This earns you a glare, but you only smile innocently back. "And next time, I pay for my own food," you add.

"I don't mind treating you."

"Please, Bucky," you say with exaggerated patience. "Women can pay their own way now, you know. No need to be such a gentleman."

He glances at you, a wry sort of smile twisting his lips. "You think maybe that's why I can't get a date?"

"Maybe it's because you're irascible and rude without reason," you retort.

"Only for Steve's girls. Someone's gotta look out for him."

"He could look out for himself, you know."

"Maybe. He's not great with the ladies, Stevie. Picks up a lot of duds." Bucky says this casually, but it makes you wonder. The rest of the meal is finished in silence.

The temperatures have continued to drop, and briefly you rethink your plan as you and Bucky climb onto the train together to head for the place Maisie had recommended for a tree. But you can't quite bring yourself to back out. Your eyes wander over to Bucky, wondering what he's thinking, and he meets your gaze with a lazy smile that makes you forget that you're shivering.

Had he not been there, you would have chosen a little four-foot tree that you could carry to your apartment alone. But eager to get home, and thinking to torture Bucky just a tad, you choose the first tree you see in the lines. It's a little taller than you, full and lush (likely why it's in front), and you don't waste time paying for it. With a giddy grin you can't contain, you reach through the branches to grab the trunk, giving it a fond shake. Bucky's expression is no less than dubious.

"You don't waste time on important decisions, do you?" he asks dryly.

"Never," you vow. Which is why you're in this conundrum in the first place. But you don't say that out loud.

With the bright streetlights and the dark sky behind him, Bucky's face is carved out into handsome planes. Especially when he smiles. Which he does, as he bends over to hoist up the tree onto his shoulder. The cold branches whack you in the face, and you give an indignant squawk as he straightens.

"Sorry, did I get you?" he asks innocently. Evidently lifting the tree is no strain to him. Show off.

"Let me help," you say.

"Fine. Take the front. I'll follow you."

Bucky hoists the bottom trunk on his shoulder, and carefully you mimic him. There's not a lot of weight on your shoulder - which you prefer, and after only a few bumbling steps, he matches your pace as you head east across the parking lot.

"I only live two blocks from here," you call over your shoulder.

"Good," Bucky grunts in return.

There are a few odd looks your way - carrying a decent-sized fir tree does attract some attention, but New Yorkers, as they are, shuffle on. The exercise begins to warm you up, though the pine needles are making your skin itchy. You wonder if Bucky is cold yet.

"Here," you say. You pause at the front door of your apartment building, and with one hand rummage in your bag for your keys. Quickly you unlock it, and trying to prop the door open with your foot, begin to drag the tree inside. Bucky helps - but the tree doesn't get very far. The 'full and lush' branches are too thick for the doorway, and after some grunts and grumbles, Bucky drops the trunk to the ground, bracing himself against the doorframe with a glare.

"Real good thinking," he snipes. "Now what?"

The tree is only part way inside. You gnaw at your lip, thinking. "Well," you decide. "Think we could get it through a second story window?"

"A second story  _window_? Honey, this didn't even fit through a  _door_."

Immediately hot tingles begin to spread up your cheeks, and you force yourself to meet Bucky's eyes despite feeling like you might faint.  _Honey_. What strange knots are forming in your stomach.

"I have big windows," you tell him firmly, keeping your voice from trembling. "They're wide. Not as tall as the door, but much wider. Kapeesh?"

His eyes hold yours a moment longer, and then he sighs in resignation.

It's more of a struggle to carry the tree up the fire escape - it snags between the grates and you nearly drop the tree on Bucky twice. He doesn't seem to mind though; the first faceful of needles he gets makes him laugh, once he gets over the indignity, and he even volunteers to wait on the exterior landing while you rush inside to open the window.

Up the stairs, into your apartment. You kick off your boots and rush over to the window, unlocking it and wrenching it open. Bucky's beaming face sticks inside first, the tip of his nose red with cold.

"Ahh, warmth," he says, closing his eyes blissfully. You giggle, and immediately shed his jacket to pass to him. Once he's bundled properly, he lifts up the tree from the bottom, and you reach up to guide the tree into your apartment carefully.

"A perfect fit," you tell him smugly, as at last Bucky climbs through, dirtying your floor with his wet boots.

"You got lucky this time," he teases, and helps to prop the tree against the wall. You close the window behind him, trying not to sense the heady presence his body makes in your rather small living room, before rushing off to find a tree stand without a word.

Bucky gallantly helps you to put the tree in, tightening the screws so that it stands straight. And patiently he moves it to the precise wall where you decided it should go, the tip barely brushing the ceiling.

"Perfect," you sigh, rubbing your hands together. "Now for the fun part."

"What, hauling this up wasn't fun?" Bucky glances down with brows raised, his hands resting casually on his hips. But his eyes are sparkling, all the same.

"Oh, it was," you assure him. "You had more fun with that than  _I_  did, though."

"Need help with the lights on top?"

This proposition gives you pause - you had been enjoying Bucky's company, and to say goodbye would be a bit painful, with all the weighty considerations attached to his presence. So you agree, smiling up at him.

"Definitely."

Since it 'tis the season,' you turn on some music to enjoy while Bucky cusses out the mess of string lights. It's tetchy work, but eventually the lights are strung around the tree to your satisfaction. Ornaments could wait - you aren't feeling digging around a closet to find them.

You collapse on the couch with a smile, basking in the colored light warming the room. Bucky glances over at you with a smile, and strides over to sit beside you. He stretches out his long body with a contented sigh.

"Looks good," he says.

"Not bad at all," you agree. It's been a tiring day, and so you lean your head against the back of the couch with a yawn.

"Oh, come on," Bucky nudges your shoulder with his, startling you back to the present. His eyes have deepened to a dark blue in the dim light of your living room, but still they sparkle as he teases, "How can you be tired? You barely helped lift that thing!"

"Well, it's exhausting to be in charge."

He starts to give a snort of laughter, but abruptly it's cut off as he leans slightly forward to inspect the floor. "Aw, shoot," he says. A pool of melted snow and slush has formed on the floor - from his boots, from the tree. He glances ruefully in your direction. "Got a towel?"

"Sure." You climb to your feet to fetch a towel. When you return, Bucky's expression is regretful, and you're laughing as he bends over to clean up the mess he made. Slush, dirt, pine needles, and all. "Why, thank you," you tell him. "I didn't realize you were such a polite houseguest."

He grins up at you. "Maybe I'm not as bad as you thought."

"That's still up in the air, buddy."

Bucky straightens after wiping down his boots, smiling as he holds out the dirty towel to you. You take it, and after a tense moment, his hands drops.

"Thank you for your help," you say quickly, covering the awkward moment with manners. "And for dinner."

That crooked grin again, reaching up to wrinkle the corners of his eyes. "Like I said. Maybe I'm not so bad."

"You stole all my Skittles."

"You lost them in a fair game!" Bucky insists, but he laughs, and you can't help joining in, too. He has such an infectious laugh.

Would Steve have helped shove a Christmas tree through your window? Steve, who disapproved of things like casual gambling and candy?

You stop laughing.

"It's getting late," you blurt, causing Bucky's smile to slide off his face. But he nods.

"I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay."

"Keep me posted on Steve if you go over and none of us are there."

You nod, biting your lip, not quite trusting yourself to talk. In that silence, the corners of Bucky's mouth lift upwards. "Good bye, then."

"Bye, Bucky."

And when you close the door behind him, you lean your back against it, trying to catch your breath from your thudding heart. You close your eyes, but all you see are Bucky's eyes. And the softness in them when he looked at you.

Things are beginning to look a lot more complicated.


	6. Late Nights

Even without any nagging on the part of Bucky, you board a train to the hospital the next day after work. Giddy excitement makes your heart beat fast as you knock on the door to Steve's room before pushing it open, and you smile as you step through.

But Bucky isn't there.

Oh. Well. You sidle in anyways, casting Steve a dubious look. He's as utterly still as always, though with fewer IVs and monitors around him. In fact, he looked like he might be asleep. You walk tentatively forward, thinking that it would be most appropriate to leave right away (while berating yourself for going to the hospital like an idiot without word from Bucky), when you see a box on the bedside table. Your smile returns at once - this clearly is not for Steve. You reach over to pick up the post-it note on the top.

_I didn't want your blood sugar getting too low. Don't tell Stevie. -B_

Inside are six chocolate glazed doughnuts, smelling of sweetness and yeasty, fried goodness. Your heart skips a beat as you bite your lip, suppressing a giggle. Then a wicked thought comes to mind.

You fetch several paper towels from the nurses' station, pulling out the doughnuts to set aside, leaving a few crumbs in the box. Snapping a picture on your phone, you quickly send it to Bucky with the caption:  _Thanks. They were delicious ;)._  Then you sink into the chair beside Steve, smiling ear to ear as you munch on the first of the doughnuts.

Bucky's response is immediate:  _You ate them all?_

You grin to yourself as you type back:  _Well, Steve didn't want any_. And Bucky sends several laughing emojis as a reply, and you giggle aloud.

 _Sorry we couldn't give you any company tonight_ , comes another text only a minute later.  _Duty calls._

_Well that makes sense for everyone else - but what about you? ;)_

_Ha, ha, ha._

You snicker a little, reaching for a second doughnut. You do glance at Steve then, and hesitate. "Sorry," you tell him. "I know it's rather rude of me not to share. But Bucky says you don't eat stuff like this, so it's probably for the best." You take an enormous bite. "You know what, Steve? I don't think we'd get along well in real life. I'm not giving up doughnuts for any man."

Twenty minutes later and you're bored enough to pack up the remaining doughnuts and leave. If the nurses were asked, they could report that you've loyally visited your 'boyfriend'. Hopefully nobody would be asking.

As the days wear on, it surprises you more and more as Steve remains in a coma. You, and everyone else, had expected him to wake up much sooner - but there is little no change in his condition. His bones are mending, the internal damage nearly all healed (so the doctors say), and still he sleeps.

"What if Steve doesn't get well?" you ask Bucky bluntly one night. He had insisted on walking you to the train station from the hospital - it was a rare occasion when you'd both been at the hospital at the same time. The evening had been spent betting Skittles at a rousing game of poker, and you'd been reluctant to leave. Which was why you had accepted his company to the train. His breaths are puffing out in white clouds, and when you pass together beneath a streetlight you see a hint of frown on his lips.

"It's hard to believe he won't," Bucky says at last. "He's survived worse."

"Hmm." You bite your lip. It had been a strange question to ask; you should have kept it to yourself.

"What would you do?" he asks suddenly, startling you.

"What?"

"What will you do if Steve...doesn't wake up?"

It's a bold question. What are you supposed to say to the man's best friend? That you'll remain loyal until you die? That you'll start dating again after a short bereavement? It's not like Steve is your actual boyfriend, anyway.

"I don't think my life will change very much," you say at last, kicking your boots through the built-up slush on the sidewalk. You keep your eyes on the ground, unwilling to see whatever bewilderment Bucky is experiencing at this confession.

In your bed that night, you're very nearly asleep despite your tumultuous thoughts, when a text brightens your phone, and you grab it hastily. You bite your lip to keep from grinning - it's from Bucky. But it's not  _exactly_ what you wanted to hear.

_Sam and Nat got back from their mission safely. You'll see them tomorrow. Since you're probably sick of my face ;)_

_Oh yeah, so sick_ , you text back at once.  _That's why I keep going back to the hospital every day, you dweeb._

Letting out a breath of frustration, your next text goes to Sam:  _Hey, are you going to tell everyone or what? Maybe before I'm forced into marrying Captain America over a misunderstanding?_

Putting your phone to your side, you lace your fingers over the top of your blankets, staring at the dark ceiling above. It would be the perfect time to contemplate the strangeness of your situation, if you wanted to open  _that_  can of worms.

Your phone pings twice, one after the other.

From Sam: _Sorry_.  _Working on it. Give me some time._  You don't bother replying to that.

Bucky's response is more amusing:  _You come back every day to see me? Finally, we're friends! Here I thought you'd never admit it._  Accompanied by a cheering emoji. The man sure likes his emojis. You decide not to deign to reply to  _that_  one either.

Fully anticipating Sam making good on his promise at last, you nervously away a message confirmation the next day while you're at work. But none come, and dragging your feet only a little, you depart for the hospital as the sun is setting as has become habit.

You meet Sam walking out of the hospital as you're about to head through the front doors - you see him and hurry forward, he sees you and immediately staggers backwards.

"I know what you're gonna say," he says before you can speak, holding out his hands as if to calm you.

"Yes? And?"

"I didn't tell them."

You groan aloud, closing your eyes briefly. "Sam! I thought you were going to do this for me!"

"Look - I'm sorry. But…" Sam shrugs, and instead of repentance in his eyes, it's mischief. "I've liked having you around. And so has the rest of the team."

You stare at him, lips parting in surprise. "What?"

"Bucky smiles about 47% more often now that he's been around you," Sam says with a wink. "Not what one would expect from a man whose bestie is in a coma, so thank you. I've decided I'm not telling. That's up to you, my friend."

" _Sam!_ "

"Well, I'm off. See you later!" And he gives a wave before disappearing into the crowd on the sidewalk - good for him, because you really want to chase him and give him a good kick in the shins.

You're still fuming when get to Steve's room, unsure of what to expect. The sight of Bucky sprawled out in one of the chairs only riles you up more - what right does he have looking so damned handsome when you're supposed to be dating Captain America?

"Hey there," Bucky drawls, glancing over at you with those eyes. Those  _eyes_. "I was wondering when you'd come. You just missed Sam."

"Oh, I saw Sam," you say indifferently, tossing your bag in a chair and sitting in a huff. "Nearly strangled him, too."

Bucky gives a chortle. "You and me both, honey. What'd he do this time?"

 _Honey_  again. How could his voice make a simple word, a simple endearment drip with such...sultry meaning? You swallow, trying to remember - oh, yes. "It's nothing," you mumble.

"Whatever you say."

"Got anything sweet?"

Bucky laughs again. He is in a really good mood, for some reason. "Hitting the hard stuff early?" he asks.

"Is that a yes or no?"

He lifts a brow in your direction, and then reaches into the pockets of his leather jacket on the back of his chair to toss a colorful package across the room, landing it perfectly in your lap. It was probably meant for a game of cards, but right then, you don't really care.

"You're a man after my own heart," you say fervently, and without thinking. Quickly you tear into the wrapping, shoving some therapeutic Skittles into your mouth. How much longer will you be playing your part in this stupid deception?

"You know," Bucky says slowly after a moment, his gaze still on you. "You're not the type Steve usually dates."

You blink. The leftover irritation of your encounter with Sam surges to the surface, and knowing full well your own irrationality, you roll your eyes anyway. "Wow. Thanks, Bucky. Thanks a  _ton_."

"I wasn't trying to insult you," he snaps back. The tension in the room is suddenly taunt. Bucky leans forward in his chair, eyes sparking dangerously. "Maybe you can think for a minute that not everyone is against you."

The Skittles are gone. You slump in your chair, and gritting your teeth, glare back up at Bucky. "Sorry," you mutter. "I just...got mad."

"It's okay." Bucky's voice lowers back to his normal volume. A hint of his crooked smile flashes on his face. "It's been a stressful few weeks."

You try to offer a smile in return, but mostly it just hurts. To cover up your emotions, you gaze at Steve for a while. He's been unconscious three weeks now. And what a three weeks it's been. Idly you try to remember Steve as you last saw him, buying his coffee on Thanksgiving. You realize you don't remember what color his eyes are. Frowning, you think,  _blue_. But it's only Bucky's blue that you can see in your mind.

That night, you receive a text from Bucky just as you're climbing into bed:  _Sorry I snapped at you tonight. Forgot to apologize earlier_.

Smiling, you text back,  _Well, it's been a stressful few weeks, hasn't it? All is forgiven ;)_

_You're an angel._

_Stop, you're making me blush._

_Sorry again. Hey, you got any plans for Christmas?_

This makes you snort to yourself.  _Yeah, my schedule is totally booked._

_Yeah? Ski trip? Tahitian cruise?_

_Don't rub it in. I'm staying in the city. I have to work the 24th and the 26th._

_Tough luck. Maybe we'll drop by so you can see some friendly faces, at least._

_You do that. Now stop keeping me awake. I have an early shift._

_If you say so. Good night, then._

You fall asleep with a smile on your face.


	7. Christmas Eve

The intercom is buzzing. You quickly unfold yourself from your couch, rushing over to press the talk button.

"Hello?"

A deep, staticky voice responds. "It's me. Bucky."

Bucky? What was he - "What are you doing here?" you ask, in more surprise than deliberate rudeness. You two were past that point in your relationship. You think.

"We wanted to have you over to the tower for Christmas Eve," he explains. "I was going to text you, but I figured you'd just say no. So here I am. You can't say no to a man who drove through an hour of traffic to get you."

He can't see your smile - that's probably for the best. Biting your lip, you press the button again. "I have to say no," you tell him.

" _Please_." You can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice. "I know you don't have other plans."

"I'm not dressed to go out," you say primly.

"Neither am I. Dress code is pajamas. Natasha's rule." A pause. Your heartbeat quickens with a skip. Completely unwarranted, you think. "Look," Bucky adds. "We can't leave you alone on a holiday. You're practically family. Steve would take our side on this, you know."

No, he wouldn't. But over the intercom isn't really a time to be confessing deep, dark secrets.

"And hurry up!" Bucky says again. His voice growing testy. "It's freaking cold out here. And if you keep trying to say no, I'm going to come up and break down your door.  _Christmas is for family_. You ain't gettin' out of this one."

Apparently not. With a sigh of exasperation, you give in. "Fine! Let me get my coat."

In a sense of giddy excitement, you quickly turn off the lights, throwing on a pair of boots and the rest of your outerwear. Then you pause - it's a Christmas party. You should take a gift for the host, at least. For Tony Stark? What could you possibly give one of the richest men in the world? You hesitate, and then reach above the refrigerator to grab an unopened package, previously intended for your landlord.

Locking the door behind you, you rush down the stairs, boots comp-clomping, and come to a breathless halt at the front doors, where Bucky is standing, rigid and looking annoyed, under the flickering light. Of course he's cold. He's only wearing a leather jacket. No hat, no gloves.

"Come on," he says when you exit through the doors. "I left the car on so it'll be warm."

"You drove here?" you ask in surprise. Indeed, a fancy looking vehicle is parked on a nearby curb. Bucky strolls around to the driver's side, and you hesitate at the passenger door.

"Don't stand on formalities," he says, and ducks inside. You open the door, and slide in.

It is  _very_  warm. The heaters are running full blast in your face, and Bucky lets out a sigh of relief. The interior is smaller than you expected; Bucky is practically folded into the driver's seat, and your elbows are nearly touching. The growing familiarity of his scent twists your stomach in pleasant knots. It's hard to breathe with so much...just so much Bucky everywhere. Is this one of Stark's cars? Why hadn't Bucky chosen one that fit him better?

"Methinks you need an actual winter coat," you tell him, a little cross yourself, as he puts the car in gear and merges onto the traffic. He turns his head slightly, glaring at you.

"A ' _thank you for picking me up to go to a party on Christmas Eve, Bucky_ ' will suffice," Bucky says, his voice mimicking yours. You scowl.

"And here I thought we were finally friends," you shoot back.

His lips are pursed now, and as he stops at a red light his eyes fasten on yours. Those blasted eyes. You hold his gaze, hoping that he doesn't notice how your pulse has suddenly started racing. In your mittens, your hands clench into fists, and you lift your chin. At last Bucky breaks the tension with a laugh.

"I hope we are," he admits. "Even though I've been a jerk sometimes, huh."

"Apology accepted," you tease, knowing full well he hadn't offered one. But he laughs all the same, and reverts his eyes back to the road.

The hour-long drive Bucky had complained about was shortened to about twenty minutes, thanks to the traffic finally dispersing. Soon he's pulling into the Avengers Tower underground parking garage, and you gape at the line of cars just as fancy as this one before he parks.

"You could've picked something less flashy," you tell him as you walk together towards the elevator. His fists are in his pockets, and he raises his brows at you. You point to the normal-looking sedan down the line. "Don't feel like you need to impress  _me_ ," you tease.

"I don't," Bucky deadpans. "Tony just has us rotate through the cars so they don't get jealous."

"Uh huh. Sure."

He shoves the button of the elevator, glaring down at you with a smidgeon of annoyance, but a dash of amusement. His lips are twitching as the doors open and a singsong voice says, "Welcome, Sergeant Barnes. And guest."

Bucky's ears are red - from the cold, perhaps? Or embarrassment? But he's not meeting your eyes. "To the party please, FRIDAY."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Sergeant?" you repeat with a grin, adopting an impressed expression as you climb inside. "How cute."

"Oh, lay off," he grumbles.

But you can't help yourself. "Ooo, you've really put me in  _my_  place,  _Sergeant Barnes_."

"Watch it." A growl rumbles low in his chest, and you notice, for the first time that night, how tall he is towering over you. You merely lift your chin, smiling innocently up at him as you watch irritation flash in those stinkin' blue eyes. You hate his eyes. And love them. Just as you love and hate the way his lips part, his tongue darting out to wet them. Nervous? Perhaps. You certainly are.

The doors ding open. You jolt, giving an awkward cough as you twist your body away from Bucky. Oh, gosh, how had you come to be standing so close to him? You hadn't even felt the elevator move - and now you look out to see an elaborately decorated room, complete with glass walls that look out at the sparkling lights of the city far below.

"About time!"

You hear Natasha's voice, and step out of the elevator with a silent Bucky behind you. Natasha is smiling as she weaves around a couch. She's wearing a sweater with a reindeer head on it, complete with a red nose, flashing brightly. Bucky hadn't been lying when he said the dress code was pajamas - Natasha's flannel pants matched the sweater with brown reindeer prancing all over. Somehow she still looks good. And she is carrying two, identically wrapped packages, and wearing a grin that does not bode well.

"WAIT!"

Natasha jumps back before she can speak, and you blink at Tony Stark, across the room, and looking a bit fierce. Why? Should Bucky not have brought you? Had something bad happened - ? Was it Steve?

Tony lifts his brows in your direction, and then shrugs. "Mistletoe," he says, completely nonchalant. "It's tradition."

Your stomach sinks to your feet as you dare to look up - indeed, a sprig of plastic mistletoe has been taped to the ceiling next to the elevator. Your face is burning, and bravely you meet Bucky's gaze. His cheeks are tinged with red.

...Why?

"Don't be a jerk, Tony," Natasha snaps across the room.

"Well, I wasn't suggesting seven minutes in heaven - "

" _Yuck_ ," she says fervently. "Like any of us want to see that."

Still gazing at Bucky, you lift your shoulders in a shrug. Best to get it over with, make a little fuss as possible. So you tilt your face upwards, and Bucky sighs before leaning over to brush his lips against your cheek. You can feel the stubble of his beard, smell the delicious scent of his skin.

"Remind me not to walk this way again," Bucky says roughly after pulling away, but he's glaring at Tony. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the quickened pace of your heartbeat as you manage a smile for Natasha, who has rolled her eyes and dismissed the incident entirely.

"Top one's for Barnes," she says, brandishing it out to him. Hesitantly, he takes it, and you try not to giggle at his reluctantly doomed expression. The second is held out to you. You take it, feeling shy.

"You didn't need to - " you start to say.

"Nonsense," Natasha interrupts. "There's a bathroom that way - " she points. "Come back when you're properly attired."

"I...I did bring…" you say, lifting the box you'd brought. You'd almost forgotten, probably because the skin of your cheek is burning from the leftover sensation of Bucky's kiss. "It didn't feel right coming without a gift," you tell Natasha lamely, and give it to her.

"Ooo! Fancy hot chocolate!" she says, her eyes lighting up. "Perfect. We can all have some."

In the bathroom, you nearly lose your mind as you flip on the lights - it's massive, with the swankiest looking bathtub and glass door shower you've ever seen. A voice comes on the overhead speakers, asking if you'd like to listen to a selection of music, and quickly you say no. And you hesitate, wondering if anyone's watching as you start shedding your clothing.

Of course not. Disembodied voices know better than to spy.

The gift from Natasha is a pair of pajamas similar to hers, unsurprisingly. But instead of reindeer, the flannel pants are dotted with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The one emblazoned on the top blinks white lights in the marshmallows. Really cute. You can't see any battery pack attached, which boggles your mind. Of course, the Avengers have all the newest tech.

You bundle up your clothing and outerwear, opting to leave on socks. There are several shelves lining the walls - so you choose one and shove your things in, out of the way. Satisfied, you flick off the lights as you open the door to the hall. It's dim and quiet, and you don't notice the body striding down the hall until you move, bump into it, and stumble backwards. Firm, metal fingers clutch your arm, and you teeter back, balanced again.

"Sorry," you mutter.

"It's ok."

You can see Bucky's face despite the darkness. And the flashing from his shirt. It's the headlight of a train, with wreaths on the front for a touch of extra holiday spirit. You bite your lip. The Winter Soldier in novelty pajamas? Definitely worth a laugh.

"Choo choo?" you offer, your voice trembling.

"Yeah. Tony chose everyone's theme. He has a poor sense of humor, sometimes." Bucky's voice has a definite edge. You blink back at him, confused, and then it clicks.

"Oh, my gosh," you say faintly. "That - he gave you  _train_  pajamas?"

"Yep." Something flashes in his eyes, and the rigidness of his mouth seems to soften a little. Torn between laughing and commiserating, you watch as Bucky's shoulders slump, and he sighs. "It's a little funny," he admits. "But too soon, maybe. I can't help but think Barton had some say in it."

"Well, I wouldn't worry," you tell him, falling into step beside him back down the hall. "Next year Steve can have the trains."

Bucky chortles at this, thankfully. "I like the way you think," he says, glancing over at you with his sparkling eyes. You don't have a chance to respond to this before you step into the common area, which is good, because you didn't know what to say, anyway.

Bucky nudges you slightly as you hesitate, and you cast him a mild glare as you sit down on one of the plush couches to watch and listen. Natasha is curled up by Clint - Clint's pajamas are covered in...cupids. Wrong season. But you stifle a giggle all the same. Sam, poking a sound system on a table nearby, is wearing cardinals.

A massive, twelve-foot tall tree is shoved against the wall to the right. Beside it, Tony has wound his arm around a red-headed woman are arm in arm, laughing together. Stark's pajamas are covered in little elves, hammering toys. Of course. And he's with Pepper Potts. She's wearing snowflakes. Easily the most subtle of the pajamas - she had gotten lucky.

"Oh, good, we're all here," Tony says suddenly, grinning at you and lifting a glass of champagne in welcome. Your cheeks turn hot. "Time to open Secret Santa presents."

"Presents are for Christmas  _morning_ , Stark," Clint objects.

"Most of us are spending Christmas day with family, not you bozos," Tony replies without missing a beat. "I'll go get them." He places his flute on a table, and rushes off. Tony clearly loves Christmas. Of course, the scented candles, of fir and cranberry littered around the room, the television playing a flickering fire, and the strung Christmas lights across bookcases would indicate so.

It all makes you smile. How long had it been since you'd last enjoyed such a happy, relaxed and festive atmosphere? Longer than you'd like. Slowly your eyes drift around the decorations, and down...to see Bucky, at the opposite end of your couch, reclined and looking utterly lazy as he gazes at you. You don't recognize the expression in his eyes, and your cheeks turn hot again as his lips curl into a slight smile.

"Alright!" Sam is rubbing his hands together, and the sounds of sultry Dean Martin singing  _Let it Snow!_  can be heard over the sound system. He climbs across Nat and Clint, to sit between you and Bucky. Good. Now Bucky can't stare at you and make you feel stranger than you already do.

"Couldn't you choose something less  _old_?" Clint complains.

"I think it's perfect," Bucky retorts before Sam can speak.

"Well, not all of us are a hundred years old. Come on, Sam."

But Sam is shaking his head. "Nah, Christmas is a good time to be a little old-fashioned."

Tony returns to end this debate, balancing a stack of brightly-wrapped gifts. Pepper takes the top one from the stack, reading the name tag. "Natasha," she says, passing it to Nat. Then one for Sam, one for Clint, one for her, one for Tony, and the last for Bucky. Tony slinks into a large chair, looking pleased with himself, the largest box tucked under one arm.

"Let's take turns, make it last longer," Pepper suggests, taking a seat on Tony's knee.

"Me first," Clint says eagerly. He's already begun to tear the wrapping paper, and you laugh to see Natasha's expression of annoyance as if to say,  _what a child_. The box inside is quickly unlidded, and with a great beaming smile Clint pulls out -

"Elf ears?" he asks, expression twisting into confusion. "What the - "

But you're laughing too hard, along with Sam and Tony and Natasha, to hear the rest of his complaints. Wheezing, Sam tries to explain the joke to Bucky. You're wiping tears from your eyes as you see Clint's glare.

"Alright, fess up. Who was my Secret Santa?" he demands.

"Not until all the presents are opened," Tony says over the hubbub. "Nat, you go next."

Natasha's package turns out to be a very fancy set of throwing knives. She's impressed, and frankly so are you, despite your lacking knowledge in weaponry - there are two black holsters included, and seven slim knives. She weighs them carefully in her hand, and then quick as a flash throws her wrist back, and the knife goes flying. A heavy thunk behind you makes you flinch - the knife is now on the wall behind you, quivering slightly as it sticks.

"Come on, Nat," Tony complains. "Don't we replaster enough?"

"Sorry," Natasha says, unrepentant as she uncurls herself to retrieve her knife.

" _She_  gets a good gift," Clint grumbles.

Bucky is next. It's a long, thin package, and you watch with extra interest as he unboxes...a cane. A carved, wooden walking cane.

"Ha, ha," he says sarcastically, glaring around. Unlike with Clint, no one really dares to laugh at the dark expression on Bucky's face - but then you catch Sam's eye, see the hilarity sparkling there, and the two of you burst into twin gales of laughter. Poor Bucky's face is bright red, and even Clint is laughing. Maybe he hadn't gotten the worst gift after all.

Sam's is bird seed (collectively agreed to be as equally amusing and useless as the elf ears), Pepper's is a baseball cap with the word ' _in charge_ ' sewn on the front, and Tony - Tony gets a refurbished Atari.

"I don't think we should do Secret Santas again," Clint declares. "Not everyone is equally good at giving gifts."

"I'm perfectly happy," Natasha says with a shrug, crumbling up her wrapping paper to toss at Clint.

"Well, you got something good."

"Barnes  _is_  touchingly excellent as gift-giving," she says, turning to smile at Bucky. He grins in return, and you feel a weird hot twisting in your stomach as she climbs to her knees, leaning over the armrest to press a kiss to his cheek.

 _There's no reason to feel wierd,_  you tell yourself irritably, your cheeks warm as you look determinedly away.  _They're not together. And it's not like you're with...anyone, really. No need to be jealous._

"Thanks for the hat, Natasha," Pepper says, tugging the cap over her head. "I think I might wear this to board meetings - what do you think, honey?"

Tony, grumbling a little, gives a shrug. But quickly Pepper leans down to kiss him fondly, and a smile begins to resurface. "Want to trade, Barnes?" he asks impishly. "You can start learning video games from the bottom, and I can use your old man's cane to whack Clint for giving  _me_ such an awful gift."

"Yeah, then I can use it on Sam," Clint says, glaring at Sam.

"And then what? I beat up the guy in a coma?" Sam asks indignantly. "Come on. No whacking. It's Christmas!"

"Speaking of - where's Steve's present?" This from Nat. Tony, with a hollow smile, points to a bookcase where rests the final, unopened gift. "We should take it over to him," Natasha suggests.

Nudging Pepper from his lap, Tony stands to grab the present, and then strides over to you, holding it out. You stare up at him. "You take it," he says, waving it a little. "Save it for him." You can't really say no - unless you want to tell everyone the truth that very second. Which you don't. You can feel the burning gazes on your face, and so you smile and take the package.

"Nog time!" Sam says loudly, standing up. This is met by general excitement, and he and the others disappear - to the kitchen, most likely. Now that you think about it, you can smell a custardy, spicy scent wafting around.

You're left in the common area, fiddling with the gift in your hands as you stare at the snowmen on the wrapping paper. Then you feel the weight on the couch shift, and Bucky slides next to you. Prickles of warmth race across your skin at his sudden nearness.

"I bet Steve's jammies have snowmen on them, too. What do you think?" he asks in a low voice. You lift your head, staring at the smile on his lips. He's too close for comfort. But you smile back, all the same.

"No doubt," you agree. Bucky presses his lips together, sparkling eyes still on yours. Then he speaks, hesitantly.

"I...I know Steve would've gotten you something nice," he says, reaching over to the coffee table, rummaging through the cups and books and torn wrapping paper to produce a small package. "I hope you don't mind."

"M-mind?" you say, your voice a little squeaky. "Bucky, you didn't have to - "

"Of course not. But I didn't want you to be left out." When you don't move, Bucky gently lifts your empty hand and puts the box in it, brows raised expectantly. Quickly you look down, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. Oh, gosh. Bucky had gotten you a gift in lieu of Steve. Of your  _fake boyfriend_.

"I can't accept this," you murmur, tracing a finger on the white ribbon.

"You can."

_Come on, brain. Think of a way to refuse. A real reason. Come on, be quick…_

Fingers trembling, you break the tape and push the wrapping paper aside. A white box. You lift the lid, and give an inhale at the sparkling silver nestled inside.

"Oh, Bucky…" you say weakly. You lift the necklace out, the charm catching and reflecting the colored lights in the room. It was an angel. Of course it was - he'd remembered. Gazing back up at him, you see a light of hope and eagerness in his eyes - he wanted you to like it. How could he be so good?

Impulsively you throw your arms around Bucky's neck, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his scent. After stiffening in his initial surprise, he slowly relaxes and his flesh arm curls around your back.

"I take it you like it?" he murmurs in your ear, chuckling. Goosebumps break across your skin, and you nod numbly, unable to speak. It feels right -  _too_  right - to have Bucky's warm cheek against the flesh of your neck.

"Egg nog?"

You jump apart from Bucky, cheeks aflame. He coughs discreetly, turning away from you - but Sam, holding two glasses in his hand, is smiling as if he hadn't just walked in on his best friend's fake girlfriend hugging his best friend's other best friend. Maybe it's a good thing Sam had walked in and not someone else.

"Thanks," Bucky says, his voice a little ragged as he takes both cups from Sam. He sets them on the table with a long sigh, then turns back to you. "Let me help you put it on, at least."

You give him a shy smile, and place the necklace in his hand before twisting away from him. Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you feel the brush of his fingers against your neck. Your breath catches, and carefully you try to steady your heart. The cold charm rests below your throat. Tentatively you stroke the cool metal with your fingertips as Bucky fumbled the clasp. It takes about a minute longer than it ought, but finally he lets his hands drop. "There."

"Thank you, Bucky," you tell him, turning back to offer him a smile. "I do love it."

"I'm glad." His lips curl into a grin that warms you right down to your toes, but he breaks your gaze quickly as the sound of the team re-entering the room grows louder.

You sip the eggnog he passes to you, and try to hide your expression from the others.


	8. Christmas Morning

When you wake the next morning, you've forgotten where you are. Pulling the warm covers from your face, you blink your groggy eyes at the room around you - tree, garlands, massive television. Oh, right. You're still at Avengers Tower.

With the Christmas Eve party going on until after midnight (party being a vague term for the team razzing on each other, just with a holiday-theme), you'd been bullied by both Pepper and Natasha into staying the night instead of making the trek home so late. You'd at least won the fight not to sleep in Steve's empty room - which was why you were bundled under several blankets on the couch, with early morning light coming in through the windowed walls.

Time to go.

Carefully you fold up the blankets you'd used, placing them on top of the pillow. It doesn't sound as though anyone else is awake yet - and since the nearest clock reads 6:23 a.m., it's not so surprising. You stretch your arms over your head with an enormous yawn, wandering towards the bathroom to change back into your clothes -

Someone is sitting on the ground when you turn the corner. Your breath catches in surprise, stopping you in your tracks. But Bucky merely glances up from the newspaper he's reading, and toasts you with a mug of coffee. He's still wearing his train pajamas, and his hair is tied back in a knot.

"Morning," he says with a grin.

"What are you doing there?" you ask in a hiss. "Sitting on the floor like...like a  _creep_."

"Well, the couch was taken," Bucky says mildly. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"Cute." You press a hand to your head, still feeling the rapid pace of your heartbeat from the scare. "Now excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom."

Bucky's eyes are fastened on your face, studying intently. You gulp. "You gonna leave?" he asks.

"It's morning," you point out. "It's probably safe now, you know."

"Except that Natasha will never forgive you for leaving before Christmas breakfast."

"I - I have to go home. I can't stay here  _forever_."

Bucky's brows lift, his lips twisted with a smirk. "Can't you?"

"No." You say it in a mumble. He studies you a moment more, and then stands with a grunt.

"Tell you what," he says. "Let me make you breakfast before you high-tail it out of here, and I'll cover for you to Natasha. Can't send you out on an empty stomach, anyway. What if you faint?"

"I'm not going to faint." But you quickly realize it's probably the best deal you're going to get. In fact, you imagine that if you refused and tried to leave, Bucky would wake up the rest of the team before you even had your coat on. Or would he? You were understanding Bucky less and less these days.

"Why are you up so early, anyway?" you ask, to hide your discomfort. He shrugs.

"I don't sleep much. So you'll stay?"

"For a little bit, I guess."

Bucky gives a broad grin, and you fall into step beside him as he begins to walk down the hall towards the kitchen. "What'll it be, honey? Eggs? Toast? Huevos rancheros?"

 _Honey_  yet again. If he keeps going this, you'll probably start falling over every time. Your stomach flips as you try to shrug nonchalantly. "Oh, I don't care."

He tosses the newspaper onto a counter, and points to a line of chairs at the bar. "Sit."

"Yes, sir." You stare around at the marble counter, the white cupboards, the appliances. You don't realize that Bucky, standing on the opposite side of the bar and staring at you until you feel the pull of his gaze. He's smiling.

"I didn't know you were so meek in the mornings," he teases. "Looks like I got lucky."

"I haven't had my coffee yet," you snark back. "That usually sharpens my tongue."

"Then no coffee for you today, miss," Bucky says, waving a finger. "How about hot chocolate instead? It's Christmas, after all." He reaches over to grab the tin of flavored hot chocolates you'd brought - it's been opened.

"Hazelnut," you tell him. "It's my favorite."

He lifts a brow, and produces two packets of the hazelnut.

"I can't drink  _that_ much."

"One is for  _me_ , you goose. You think I'm gonna cook for you but continue my night-long fast?"

"Of course you wouldn't," you say with a roll of your eyes.

"I could!"

"Uh huh. Sure."

"But I won't." Bucky is grinning as he goes about making the hot chocolate. You watch his movements - his broad back, so visible underneath the tight shirt ( _good choice on sizing, Natasha_ , you think), the flicker of humor in his eyes. You're probably staring, but you don't care, and when he at last puts a warm mug in front of you, you're smiling up at him, completely unashamed.

"Thank you," you say. He'd even added marshmallows  _and_  whipped cream, and so you tentatively take a sip.

"It's good!" Bucky says. A smear of whipped cream is on his nose, and you giggle. His eyes narrow at you. "What?"

"You've got a little something…" You point to your own nose. He blinks, and then his eyes widen as he realizes. You laugh again as he wipes off the whipped cream.

"Thanks," he says. "So, what would you like? I need to know."

You rest your chin in your hands, letting your opposite fingers curl around the warm mug. "Well, if I'd known a chef would be taking my breakfast order this morning," you tease. "Eggs benedict, probably. Or crepes suzette."

Bucky's lips press together in a show of irritation, but you know he's not truly annoyed - his eyes are dancing as he rests his elbows on the bar, leaning close to you.

"Whatever you ask for, remember you have to eat it.," he croons in a sing-song voice. "Even if it's  _horrible_." You nearly choke - oh  _gosh_ , the charm is just radiating off of him in waves, and you pull your head back in search of fresh, not-Bucky-smelling air. Hopefully your pulse will go back to normal quickly.

"Thank you for the warning," you say dryly. "Then tell me your specialities."

"Well - toast with jam, cold cereal, pancakes if I can find the mix in the pantry, and French toast."

"French toast."

Bucky's grin lights up the room as he tucks a stray clump of hair behind his ear. "Good choice."

"So where'd you learn to cook?" you ask, as he leaves your side to start cooking. It's a welcome relief from his heady presence.

"My ma, mostly. She thought all of her kids should know how to take care of themselves. Since then...Sam's taught me a few tricks. He knows more than I do." Bucky has gathered several ingredients, stacking them by the stove.

"Then maybe I should've woken up Sam to cook me breakfast," you tease. Bucky casts you a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed.

"Funny."

" _I_  thought it was." You give a shrug. "Sam appreciates my humor a little more."

"You're a real pill, you know that?"

"And you're the one making me breakfast. That makes  _you_ a schmuck."

Bucky is laughing, and the scent of sizzling butter begins to fill the air.

He's a better cook than you might have expected, because when he presents you with a plate several minutes later, he's clearly put in effort - triangled halves of French toast are arranged like a Christmas tree, covered in green sprinkles (you had watched on dubiously to this addition). Sliced strawberries for ornaments, several dollops of whipped cream, and as Bucky slides into the seat next to yours with his own place, he offers a hot carafe of maple syrup.

"In case you need more sugar," he grins.

"Oh, I do." You drizzle syrup all over, then some extra for good measure, and watch as Bucky does the same before you dig in. His eyes are on you, expectant - he's waiting for a compliment. So you take your time, and after a while say imperiously, "I guess it's pretty good."

"You're teasing!" Bucky laughs, nudging his knee against yours. Your leg tingles, and you try to laugh along. "It's really good, isn't it?"

"Well - yeah," you admit. "Probably the best French toast I've ever had."

"That's what I like to hear." He grins at you, mouth full. The he swallows, and says in an off-hand way, "I can't believe Steve lets you get away with,  _ahem_ , destroying your body with sweets."

You snort. "I still can't believe he doesn't eat sugar."

"Oh, I agree." Bucky glances over at you. You try to smile, but it feels stiff. Then his brows draw together. "Hey, you've got a little - " And before you can react, he reached up and brushes a bit of cream from your cheek. You blink in surprise, and his eyes widen as he realizes what he did. Quickly he wipes his hand on a napkin.

"I guess we're even," you say quietly.

"Guess so."

The rest of breakfast passes in a tense sort of silence.

Afterwards, you change into your clothes slowly in the bathroom, taking your time as you realize that the lovely evening, which had spilled into the morning, was over. You certainly weren't going to be around the next Christmas. Probably not before then, either. Steve would wake up, or Sam would spill the beans, and everything would go back to normal. Including your lonesome evenings at home.

Bucky is waiting by the elevator when you approached, dressed and ready to go, but quickly you shake your head before he can speak.

"I'm going to take the train," you say firmly. "You should stay."

"I couldn't - "

"You can." Without thinking, you grasp his arm, and he flinches under your touch. "Bucky, I'll be fine. You aren't obliged to me."

"Aren't I?" he asks lightly. His blue eyes seem to reflect your own emotions - confusion, a little sadness and suppressed...something. Maybe that's the reason he doesn't appear to be ready to fight you on this point.

"No."

A tense silence. This reminds you of this exact position the night before - you glance up towards the ceiling. Indeed, the mistletoe is still there. So you lower your gaze, smiling at Bucky. All the sugar he'd given you must've made you brave.

"My turn, I guess," you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his unshaven cheek. He startles, and that red flush is in his cheeks again. "Thank you for last night, and this morning. It was all wonderful."

"And it beat staying home?" Bucky asks, wry smile in place, which you return, your stomach in knots.

"I guess. See you around." Your hand falls from his arm, and the elevator doors ding open. Turning away, you hear Bucky inhale sharply as if to speak - you glance back at him, brows raised, but he snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head. His smile is still there, but it's twisted.

"Yeah. See you around."


	9. Chapter 9

You groan as you hear the incessant ringing of your phone, rolling over in bed and lying still. It doesn't stop. You reach for the bedside table, fumbling as you answer the call, putting it to your ear.

"H - hello?"

"Ma'am, this is St. Medina's hospital calling to inform you that Steve Rogers has awoken from his coma."

You feel as though you've been doused in ice water. How had the hospital even gotten your number? You rub your eyes as the nurse continues talking. Bucky. Of course - he was the only one who'd had your phone number. He must have marked you as the next of kin for Steve - how very kind of him. And how very aggravating for you. That means the hospital probably won't call anyone else - which leaves it up to you.

 _Why_  had he done that when he barely trusted you?

"Thank you," you say as the nurse finishes. "Be right over." That should be appropriately vague. You hadn't said  _who_  would be right over.

Your bedroom is a little cold, but you sit up, wrapping yourself in blankets as your thumb hovers over Bucky's contact information. It's five a.m.; would he be awake? Would he want to be woken up for his best friend? That decides you - you push the call button, and take a shaky breath.

He answers after only a few rings. "Miss me so much you had to call?" you hear his low chuckle over the line. It wrenches your heart - gosh, what is  _wrong_  with you?

"I just got a call from the hospital," you say groggily, pinching the bridge of your nose to stifle a yawn. "Steve woke up."

Silence. Then, devoid of amusement and sounding much harsher, "I'm already in the neighborhood. I'll come get you in fifteen minutes."

" _What_  - " No, no, no! You weren't supposed to return! "I can't, Bucky, I - "

"Look, I'm already out running an errand for Tony. It's no big deal." A pause. "Come on, your boss will understand if you take the morning off."

"Well, sure, but - "  _Except he's not really my boyfriend, and now he's going to tell everyone and you're going to get mad at me and never speak to me again and I can't stand the thought of never seeing you again - don't make this worse, Bucky…_

"See you soon." The line goes dead. Thank you, Bucky-who-doesn't-understand-no. Now this is going to be the worst day of your life.

Fifteen minutes, he'd said.

You barely have enough time to wash your face, brush your teeth, and drag on some clean clothes before you get a text from Bucky, warning of his arrival. You grab your coat and scarf, rushing down the stairs and into the cold December air. He's parked in that flashy car again, and you can feel your heart in your throat as you open the door and sink into the gratefully warm air inside. Still heady. Still smelling of Bucky.

"Morning," he says, lacking some of his usual verve. You see that his features are looking unusually drawn, and you frown.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

A tight smile, which doesn't reach his eyes. "'Course."

"What sort of errands does Tony have you run before dawn, anyway?"

"Out of bacon." Bucky glances at you as he pulls into the mostly-empty street. "Ridiculous, I know. But I was awake, and a little bored, so…"

You twist in your seat, to stare at the paper grocery bag in the backseat. "Wow," you say, turning back to the front. "Tony's a real diva, isn't he?"

Bucky laughs - sounding genuine this time. "You don't know the half of it."

Nervously your knee jiggles as the streetlights pass. The sky is still black, but the morning commute is just beginning. Only a few are braving the cold, and you're grateful for the warm ride. Your lips are dry, and so you try to wet them - you realize that your heart is racing, and nerves are coiling your stomach into real nausea.

_What is going to happen?_

"Hey, it'll be okay," Bucky's gentle voice breaks through your nervous haze, and you look down in surprise to see his warm hand resting on your knee. You gaze at him, and see those lovely blue eyes, offering reassurance. "He'll be thrilled to see you, I'm sure." Is that a dash of bitterness you hear? Surely not. You attempt a smile, but really - Bucky has  _no_ idea.

"I called the rest of the team," he adds. "They'll be there too. Steve'll get a proper welcome home party."

The hospital is quiet, and the squeak of your wet boots is loud in the pristine hall. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and Bucky grasps your elbow to keep you upright. The door to Steve's room is open, and you can hear voices - you blanch at the doorway, but patiently Bucky hauls you through, and you come to a halt at the foot of Steve's bed. You keep your eyes on the ground, until you feel a bony elbow in your side - Natasha - and she grins at you. They'd gotten there  _fast._

"Good to see you still kicking, pal," Bucky says, and you watch as he goes to Steve's side to clasp him on the shoulder. Steve - oh  _gosh_. It's strange to see him awake and smiling. He looks well, all things considered, and he's wearing an easy smile.

"How're you doing?" he asks Bucky, who gives him a tight grin.

"Fine, fine. My month's been much less exciting than yours. Didn't get run over by a train once."

A few rumbles of laughter echo in the room. Sam's there, you see, and Clint and Tony. All looking pleased. You must look like you're facing the firing squad. Which soon, you would be.

"And I brought you someone special," Bucky adds to Steve.

Well, here's your reckoning.

You drag your gaze over to Steve's confused expression with a tentative smile. He blinks. His lips turn downwards. "Who?"

"Your girlfriend, bud," Bucky shakes his shoulder gently. But Steve shakes his head, clearly trying to place your face...and failing. Your knees are shaking, and you feel your throat go dry. Your eyes flicker to meet Bucky's confused ones; a hint of darkness has formed in his expression that worsens your nausea. Here it comes...

"Oh, crap," Tony says in a stage whisper. "He has amnesia."

" _Amnesia_?"

Shocked silence, followed by an outburst of flurried talking. You push some sweaty hair from your face with shaking hands, and catch Sam's eye from the other side of the room. His lips are twitching with amusement - the traitor. You frown at him, as if to say,  _What gives? You could have told them any time._  But he only shrugs, still smiling.

"I should go," you say loudly, unsure where this dash of bravery suddenly came from. You look over at Steve, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't leave on my account," Steve says kindly. You can feel Bucky's eyes, hot and burning on your face, but you refuse to look at him. "I'm sorry I don't remember you," he adds ruefully.

"No, it's alright. And...I gotta get to work anyway, so." You glance over at everyone - noting their sympathetic smiles. "'Bye, guys."

And it's Bucky's frown that's burned into your mind as you walk from the room.

How had it come to this?

And how much longer was this going to last?

* * *

Bright afternoon sunlight, breaking through the overcast skies at last, streams through the windows and onto the white sheets of the hospital bed. It's not appreciated as much as it ought to be. The two men playing cards keep to their shared silence a moment longer, oblivious to the warm sunlight.

"You sure you're okay, Bucky?" Steve asks, glancing at his friend as he shuffles the cards. "You've been awfully quiet."

"Yeah, yeah of course," Bucky says quickly. He runs his fingers through his hair, wondering why the pounding behind his eyes won't go away. Headaches often came and went, often triggered by a sight or smell or sound. He gives Steve a tight smile as he accepts his hand, frowning at the cards.

"I can't believe I don't remember her," Steve muses. "I felt so normal when I woke up. I still feel normal. But…"

Bucky grunts. "Yeah."

A few cards are placed down in more silence. The hand goes to Steve, and he leads the next round.

"She's really great, you know," Bucky says without thinking. "You're lucky."

"I guess." Steve shrugs. "I don't remember."

Bucky smacks a card down with unnecessary violence. "Well. You are," he says roughly.

Steve wins that hand, too. He smirks as he gathers the cards together to reshuffle, and Bucky feels a surge of frustration. He roughs up his hair once more, and then suddenly hating the smug look on his friend's face, blurts, "You're a real prick sometimes, you know that?"

Steve glances up mildly. "You think I should keep dating her?"

"You...were thinking you'd  _dump_ her?"

"She deserves better than a someone who forgot she exists."

"Yeah, she does," Bucky agrees, a little vehemently.

"I guess I'll try," Steve says, dealing out the cards once more. "I mean, if I liked her. If she liked me. Maybe the memories will come back."

"You'd be so lucky." Bucky isn't quite sure where all this bitterness is coming from, and taking a deep breath he leads the hand.

"What do I need to know about her?" Steve asks, casting him a glance. "You've spent some time together, right? Remind me."

Bucky inhales slowly. Where could he even start? His eyes follow the cards as Steve sweeps them away, having won the trick. Of course. "She's smart," he says after a pause. "Funny. A bit of a snark. She won't take crap, but she's the sweetest girl in Manhattan. And she has a sweet tooth as bad as mine."

"Oof." Steve grimaces comically. "Guess I'll have to work on converting you both to a healthier diet."

"Yeah, good luck with that." Bucky hesitates, breathing out as he feels the strangest warmth spreading to his limbs. "She...she's beautiful with snowflakes in her hair," he says slowly. "Her smile lights up the whole city. A man could drown in her eyes, Stevie. Honestly. When she gets nervous she gets fidgety, and you just kinda wanna wrap her up and take her home. Even her snores are adorable."

Bucky's face is burning at the end of his spiel - he hadn't meant to say so much. Steve is gazing at him, clearly a bit baffled - but a smile breaks on his friend's face.

"She sounds nice," he says, leading the final trick.

"She is," Bucky snaps, and plays his last card. Steve wins.

The game hasn't cheered Bucky at all. Deciding it would be best to change the subject, he begins to speak tentatively of the mission Sam and Natasha had gone on, and slowly the tension in the room returns to a normal level.

Still, Bucky simmers.

* * *

That night after work, your phone rings with an unknown number, and despite your physical and emotional exhaustion, you answer it as you walk briskly home in the twilight chill.

"Hey," the voice on the line says. "It's Steve. Steve Rogers."

You nearly drop your phone, fumbling it with your mittens. "Oh - um, hi. Hi."

"I'm sorry about my rude greeting this morning," he continues. "I mean, I don't have an explanation for why I seem to have only forgotten you, but…"

"It's ok," you assure him quickly. Maybe he'd 'break up' with you. That would be so  _simple_! So, heart beating fast, you hurry on, "Look, it's been a rough month and you've been ill, I'm not expecting - "

"Will you go out for dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Numbness seeps down your legs. You gape as you try to process what he'd just said: Captain America  _asked you out?_ In your mind's eye, you can see his handsome face, his blond hair as he sits in his hospital bed, phone to ear. Smiling? Probably not. But doing the right thing anyway.

His voice continues, "The doctors are hopeful that reacquainting myself with familiar things will help with the amnesia. I'll be discharged tomorrow, so…"

_Come on, say no. Think of an excuse. No, Bucky is not an excuse. How can you turn down a date with your boyfriend after you've stayed loyally at his side during a month-long coma?_

"Sure," you say.

"Great. Come by the hospital at seven; we can leave together."

"Okay."

The line goes dead.


	10. Chapter 10

Nerves make your limbs quake as you dress yourself for your date. Your date with Captain America. Because apparently that's going to happen now - this misunderstanding by a few nurses had gotten out of control very, very fast. And here you're preparing yourself for a date with a man you'd had a crush for months. But...the excitement isn't  _quite_  there.

You'd confided your complicated feelings to Maisie that day at work; while an eager listener, her advice wasn't what you were looking for.

"It's like a romance movie," she'd told you fervently. When you'd protested, she'd gone on: "You go from pining after Captain America to becoming his fake girlfriend and then you  _actually_ get to date him? Like for real? What if you marry him?"

"I'm not going to marry him!" you'd said quickly, the thought making you dizzy. Though to be fair, a month ago it might have been a good dizzy - but now it's nausea clenching your stomach, and it makes getting ready for the date a sour experience. Which you still do, because apparently you're a coward that can't tell the truth.

You have no idea what Steve might be planning, so you settle for something casual - dressy jeans, a nice top, and boots. And all the accompanying outerwear, as New York City is still in the grip of its cold snap. The time you spend on your makeup and hair does little to disguise that your wan features. Drawn eyes, lips pressed close together. Maybe you're getting sick. Maybe Steve won't want to go out with a woman who looks ill.

Somehow, your numb legs carry you to the train, and your mind is lost in a brittle haze. You could do this. It would probably be the last time - he wouldn't want to go out again. It would be a clean 'break up', blamed on the accident. No hard feelings.

_No hard feelings._

Through the hospital. The route shouldn't be this familiar, but it is. Your heart won't stop pounding in your chest, and with a deep breath you turn the corner to Steve's room. The door is propped open, and your feet take you through despite every nerve of your body screaming at yourself to  _stop!_

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, beside a nurse. He's dressed - that's good - in slacks and a button-down shirt. A jacket is slung on a chair nearby. And he's signing something on a clipboard, but glances up. You lick your lips, the pounding in your head making it difficult to move your gaze from him.

"Hi," Steve says, with a smile. "I'm almost done here. And sorry about them," he adds, jerking his head towards - oh  _gosh_ , the Avengers were in the room. As always. Every single one of them. Your stomach drops to your feet as Steve continues, "They wanted to celebrate. They didn't know we were going out."

"Right," you say in a faint voice. It sounds as if it's coming from far away, as you catch Natasha's eyes - she's smiling, and gaze over Tony, Clint, Sam (still a traitor), and lastly - Bucky. It's the sight of Bucky, frowning with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, that sends your mind reeling past numbness and into panic. His eyes are locked on yours for a moment, and then he looks away.

"All done, Mr. Rogers," the nurse says. "Don't come back too soon."

Steve chuckles, and grabs his jacket before standing. "Shall we go?" he addresses you. "I promise they're not coming with us."

"Um . . . " Your throat has closed over; your legs are shaking. Somehow words are forming of their own accord, and before you realize what you're saying, the entire room is looking at you. "I - I can't. I'm sorry."

A collective, confused silence has taken over.

"I, um . . . "  _Now_  the words fail you. Great. "I'm sorry, I just - " Your hands are shaking, and you push hair from your face. "Look, we uh, we aren't actually...dating?"

Steve blinks. You keep your eyes on him; you don't think you can stand to look at anyone else. Tony's murmuring voice and Natasha's little gasp just might make you go crazy, anyway.

"It was just a mistake. A misunderstanding," you continue, voice gaining strength. "The nurses thought I was with you...I, um, have barely ever spoken to you in my life. I had a crush on you, I guess," you give a chuckle, but it rings false in your ears. "But not anymore. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not in love with you." And your bite your lip, your throat going dry. Steve is gazing at you solemnly, but not angrily. For now.

You lick your lips again, and finally give in to the pull dragging your eyes back to Bucky. Alarm bells suddenly ring in your mind,  _Ding! Ding! Stop talking!_ Your face is as hot as the sun, and in the face of Bucky's expectant, baffled gaze, you blurt, "I'm in love with  _him_."

" _What?_ "

That's Natasha's voice - at least you think it is. Things are still a little muffled in your ears. Now that your confession is over and done with, your legs are shaking relief from the adrenaline. The team has broken out into an argument - blaming Bucky, questioning Steve. But Bucky isn't in on it; he hasn't looked away from you; his brows are creased in confusion, his lips tilted downwards in a frown. It makes you want to crawl into your bed and never come out again.

"I'm sorry," you say again in a small voice, and turn on your heel to rush out of the room, tears overflowing your eyes before you can stop them. You dare not meet the sympathetic looks from the nurses at their station, and your pace quickens as you rush for the stairs.

 _You did right_ , the text from Sam says later that night. You don't respond; partly because it's not your place, partly because he didn't say what you wanted to know.

The snow is falling thickly beyond the windows of your apartment, bright flashes of silver against the black of night. Curled up on your couch beneath a pile of pity blankets, your tears long shed but the misery sticking to your bones like lead weights.

 _This is your own fault_ , you think glumly.  _Dumb enough to play along as some guy's girlfriend, dumb enough to fall for his best friend._

And without any proof of Bucky's own feelings in return. But hadn't he so gallantly shoved a tree through your window? Kept candy in his pocket, always ready to share with you? Taken you to Avengers Tower for Christmas Eve when he knew you had no one else to celebrate with?

Absently you pluck at the necklace still hanging around your neck - you hadn't had the heart to take it off since Bucky gave it to you that night. As much as you don't deserve it, as fraudulent as you feel with all your feelings for the team which had become your friends in the last weeks.

You try to sniff, but your nose is clogged. So with a sigh you unravel yourself from the couch, and wander off in search of a tissue and a glass of water. Standing in the doorway from the kitchen, you stare at the colored lights of your tree, shining cheerily on.

Another sigh, and you turn away to dig out some boxes from a closet.

Time to put the holiday decorations away.


	11. Chapter 11

"Well, why haven't you texted him, girl?"

You grit your teeth, hauling the ten-pound bag of coffee beans from the storeroom into the front of the shop with a grunt.

"How can I text him, Maise?" you ask in annoyance. She glances up from the espresso machine she's cleaning with a grin. "Look, we only met because of a lie, I've been exposed as a fraud, and now he'll never want to speak to me again. How could he?"

"Because he probably likes you back."

"And you know that because you've met him, and have correctly gauged his feelings." You shove your worker's cap over your head, glaring at your friend.

"He carried a Christmas tree up two flights of stairs to push through your window. Not every guy will do that, you know."

But Bucky would. But that's probably just because he's a really good person, not because he actually ever liked you. "We need anything else?" you ask Maisie, ready to move past this topic of conversation.

"Yeah, the lids are almost out," she say with a grimac. " _Yuck!_  How do these dumb machines get so dirty?"

You smile hollowly to yourself, and return to the storeroom. It's been exactly five days since your confession in Captain America's hospital room, and not a word from anyone besides Sam's not-very-reassuring text that first night. There had been a sliver of hope, for the first day or two, thinking that perhaps Bucky might magically return your feelings, forgive your idiocy, and sweep you off your feet.

 _That_ hope has soured and died.

You stand on your tiptoes, rummaging through boxes on the shelves until you find one of lids. Before you can return out front, Maisie's panicked face peeks into the store room.

"Rush time," she blurts. "Come quick."

You follow her back to the front, shoving the box under the counter as you see the mass of people huddled around, waiting for their coffee. They'd come fast. Must be a train delay.

The next half-hour is a dizzy wave of preparing orders, Maisie working the counter while you dirty up the coffee machines again. It's not until two trains have come and gone that the mass of people begins to disperse, leaving you a little exhausted.

"A small latte, two shots of vanilla," Maisie calls back to you, and you drag your feet over to the machine once more. Then she's by your side, whispering, "I'm about to pee my pants. Can you do the register?"

"Of course." You lid the coffee, taking it to the counter and placing it on top. The customer quickly whisks it away. You push up the cap on your head, punching the order into the register. "Your total comes to $3.12, please." You glance up, and nearly jump out of your skin.

 _Bucky_.

Bucky?

Your ears have started ringing at the sight of his so-familiar face, framed by dark strands of hair that have escaped their knot. And he's  _smiling_ , brandishing something towards you. You blank for moment, then jolt again. His order. You reach out to accept the cash in his hands, but there's something larger and stiffer beneath the dollar bills. You're pretty sure anyone within fifty yards can hear your heart beating out of your chest, and with shaky fingers you lift out -

Two plane tickets. You blink, the letters wavering as you try to focus on the words.  _Rome, Italy_. Stunned, you don't have the wits to do anything else but glance back up. Over Bucky's shoulders, you see Sam and Natasha, watching on from an appropriate distance with smiles on their faces. But then his eyes are riveting you again, and you're frozen to the spot.

"Whaddya say?" Bucky asks, his voice low.

"S - say? To what?"

"You and me."

Your eyes flicker down at the tickets again. Is that what he means? He wants to go to Italy...with you?

"Spit it out, Barnes!" you hear Natasha say. "Say something nicer! Tell her how you feel!"

"Shh!" says Sam. "Let him do his thing." But you can't look past Bucky's shining eyes.

"Bucky..." you say weakly.

"A ' _thank you Bucky, for fulfilling my dreams of a trip to Italy_ ' will suffice," he says dryly, dimples forming in his cheeks. "Or a, ' _sorry Bucky, but I lied when I said I was in love with you to lessen the blow to Steve's pride when I turned him down_.'"

A giggle works itself from your dry throat. Gnawing your lip, you look again at the plane tickets, and then up to Bucky, unable to suppress the smile spreading across your face.

"I didn't lie," you tell him. "Not about that, at least."

That smirk is still on his face. Distracted by the hot rush spreading through your limbs, you don't speak until Bucky asks, "Can I come back there?"

"Er - yeah. I guess."

Maybe there are other customers around. But mostly you didn't care, instead watching as Bucky leaps over the counter in a rather impressive feat of athleticism. You're gripping the counter with one hand, but as Bucky towers over you, his arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady.

"I have something to tell you," he murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face.

"Oh - oh?"

"You didn't let me say it before you ran away." His lips are twisted. "I love you back."

Bucky's head dips down, and you lift your chin upwards to meet his mouth. Vaguely you can hear Natasha and Sam chattering excitedly in the distance, but you don't care. Without thinking you lift your hands, cupping Bucky's face and tangling your fingers in his thick hair. His scent is  _everywhere_ ; you're breathing him in, and it feels like life itself is rushing through your veins.

 _He loves you back_.

You've been overtaken by breathless giggles as he pulls away, his lips forming as soft smile as he nudges your nose with his.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I don't know," you admit, winding your arms around his neck. "It just seems like the thing to do."

Bucky gives a low chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest as dimples appear around his lips. "Guess so."

And standing on your toes, you kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll liked it!!! And that you'll let me know if you did :) I had a ton of fun writing this story and I'm grateful for everyone who has read/left kudos/commented <3


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